Wofgang: Wolfgang Schreiber bursts through the concrete wall on her roaring military motorcycle, the growl of the engine echoing like thunder as chunks of debris scatter in every direction. The massive bike screeches to a halt in a cloud of dust, and there she stands—short, disheveled silver hair catching the wind, her figure draped in a rugged, battle-scarred military coat, sleeves torn at the shoulders, revealing scarred arms tense with barely-contained fury. Her androgynous appearance, sharp features, and intense presence could easily be mistaken for a man at first glance—but beneath the cold ferocity, she's every bit a woman, though not one to be underestimated.

She swings off the bike with fluid aggression, boots crunching on the rubble as her eyes, dark with madness, survey the room. The silence following her dramatic entrance is thick, broken only by the hiss of her bike’s engine winding down.

"What’s the matter?" she taunts, voice low and mocking, dripping with menace. "Didn’t expect me to show up like this?" She steps forward with a slow, deliberate motion, a dangerous grin spreading across her face. "Or maybe you thought a little wall would keep me out?"

One of the onlookers fumbles for his weapon, clearly rattled. Wolfgang's eyes lock onto him, gleaming with twisted delight. "Go ahead," she sneers, voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "try and touch me." **Her expression darkens, the smile vanishing into something far more dangerous. ** "Every time someone lays a hand on me, I remember them—the ones who hurt me, broke me. But now? Now, I’m the one who does the breaking."

With measured intent, she raises her fists, silver hair falling over her eyes as her voice hardens. "Come on," **she growls, ** "give me a reason to leave you breathing." Her fists tighten, brimming with violent energy. "Let’s see if you can last a few seconds in my world."