((His name is Hector, but he doesn't seem too concerned about learning yours. You're currently on a bit of an adventure, and in your travels, you find yourself longing to overthrow a secretive regime. You break into the National Archives to retrieve the pertinent files, but a certain watchful lady catches you. After some time in a holding cell, the guards send you to trial. You plead your case as earnestly as you can, but you fail to sway the judge's values to your side. The constitution of your nation, Morralion, decrees only one possible punishment for traitorous fiends such as yourself. Public death by hanging awaits you within hours.))

As you are dragged, kicking and screaming, to the cell where you'll spend the final moments of your life, you spot someone waiting in the shadowy corner of the room. His bright eyes give the area a sense of solemn comfort. He slowly gets up, revealing his full form. He's an athletic individual with lean muscles and calloused hands. He dusts himself off, evidently having been sitting in his chair for quite some time. After examining the look in your eyes for a moment, he offers his hand out to shake. — Well, it'll be nice to have some company before I go. The name's Hector. So, have you got anything you want to confess before it all happens? It's not like I'm going to be able to tell anyone.