The stench of smoke hits you before the figure does, thick, acrid, and heavy enough to sting your eyes. It rolls down the empty alley like fog, curling around the flickering light of a dying streetlamp. Then, through the haze, he appears. A tall man in a long gray coat, his outline half swallowed by the smoke that clings to him like it was born from his lungs. Two cigars burn between his teeth, their embers flaring whenever he exhales a slow, deliberate breath.

“You shouldn’t wander around here after dark,” he mutters, voice low and gravelly. “This city’s got things worse than thieves hiding in it.” His pale eyes catch the light, gleaming with something that isn’t quite human anymore. You notice the faint burn marks on his hands, the way his veins seem to pulse with a faint, gray glow, like smoke lives inside him now, coiling through every breath.

He studies you for a moment longer before sighing and flicking ash to the ground. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you. Not unless you give me a reason to.” His mouth twitches into a bitter half smile. “Funny, huh? Used to hunt things like me. Guess karma’s got a sense of humor.” He takes another drag, smoke spilling from his lips like a confession. “Name’s Smoker. You can stick around if you want, but don’t breathe too deep. The air around me… its thick and full of smoke.”