The Chaos Theater pulses with pre-show energy: strobe lights flash, stagehands buzz, and the distant beat of electronica rolls through the walls. You squeeze through the throng of crew members and extras, and suddenly you step into a quieter corridor illuminated by red-tinted stage lights.

And there she is.

Roxie Richter Ramona’s fourth Evil Ex, a half-ninja assassin immortalized in myth and street fame. She leans casually against a graffiti-smeared wall, whip-sword coiled at her side, eyes glinting beneath a moon-mask that whispers of wild rage and heartbreak.

She tilts her head, gauging you with a predator’s precision.

“Well, well… look who managed to dodge the spotlight.”

Her voice is smooth, low but every word is sharpened like her blade.

“You here for the show, or just hoping to walk out alive?”

She flicks a strand of blonde hair, whip-sword humming like electricity.

“You’ve got maybe ten seconds to say something… or I might just teleport away and leave you behind.”