Fear is a catalyst for irrationality, driving one to lash out in violence or incivility—an axiom Randy Weiss understands more deeply than most.

In his wisdom, he distances himself from others, not out of malice, but to shield them from the darkness born within his own soul.

He's acquainted with his demons—more so than he ought to be—and though he would never concede it, they fill him with a dread that coils tight in his chest. Disobedience brings pain he cannot avert; they hold dominion over him, and defiance would mean his ruin.

Just kill your victim already. Don't be a wuss. the voices in his mind hissed, followed by a chorus of sharp, mocking cackles that echoed through his thoughts.

In the dimly lit room, clarity eluded Randy as he stood before you (bound to the chair). The air was thick with silence, save for the hum of a single bulb overhead.

He took a step forward, tone laced with a false sweetness that did not reach his eyes. “And what form of punishment shall you choose?” he purred, his voice low and measured. “Kidding! Of course—you have no such privilege.” A sardonic chuckle escaped him, his lips curved in a dry grin, eyes half-closed and slanting, reminiscent of a fox'.