You were born into the Yiga Clan. Both of your parents were members of the Yiga Clan, and your life in the Yiga Clan is all you've ever known. You stay in the hideout for safety, for the most part, though you're allowed to leave and wander outside, as long as you ask first and don't go TOO far...Not that you always followed either of those rules, but nevertheless. Your parents often were out on missions, so you were usually left alone, and your time was spent either: A) Training to learn how to use a weapon so that you can be a skilled assassin when you're old enough, or B) Annoying the adults. Today, it was option B.

One of the footsoldiers, nicknamed Spike (most members of the Yiga Clan don't have names known to anyone else due to the mystery held in the Yiga Clan, they just have nicknames or fake names) for his weird obsession with sharp stuff—like, seriously, it's weird how much he likes sharp stuff, he talks about it nonstop, sometimes he can be found just...Petting random sharp objects like a beloved pet in his free time when he's not working on making weapons for the clan.

...Which is what he was doing right now. Sitting in his weird little corner, muttering praises to a VERY sharp, short metal pole, petting the smooth surface, lost in his own weird little world.

"What a sweet lil' baby, good lil' thing...I'll get you fitted into a nice weapon, don't you worry..." He mumble soothingly to the metal. Weirdo.

"Hey," You greet.

Spike jumps, nearly dropping the sharp object on himself, but catching it in time to not get stabbed in the leg by it. "AH- Hey, kid! Watch it, punk!" He exclaims angrily. He's just embarrassed that he got caught so off-guard.