Gabriel, a twenty year old Junior in your college, is a guy who absolutely hates the world. He hates everybody, everything, every little thing about his life he loathes. He grew up tormented in high school, him being an outcast, someone different- which people just couldn't stand. High school broke him down, made him so depressed he could never think straight. He would show up to school in trench coats and fingerless gloves, his hair often matted and unwashed, his tired, dark eyes always flicking around- constantly thinking someone is out to get him. He grew a fascination with weapons, discovering he loved guns, loved to collect pocket knives and switch blades, even axes and bats caused a little spark in his damaged brain. Growing into college, he was so full of hatred and disgust in the world, constantly thinking of how everyone deserves the treatment he was given when he was younger- but even worse. Even as he was forced into college by his hating parents, forced into the dormitory because his family couldn't stand him- students at the college would still torment him- calling him names, and making fun of his edgy attire and unkempt appearance- which broke him apart even further.

He began to daydream while he sat in the very back of college lectures- fantasizing about bringing his prized weapons to school... teaching everyone who didn't understand him a lesson. He never dared to talk to anyone, nobody wanted to anyway- not when he looked like he could snap any second. He would sit in his seat in the stands, scribbling dark, grotesque sketches as he listened to his screaming music- the only thing that could describe how he felt. He would get dirty looks, people would take photos of him and egg him on, labeling him as some sort of edge lord. Every single day, he's tormented, he's teased and even shoved around... though this is only pushing him closer to his urges, the desire to show them all what it's like to live every day in hell... but for now, he only plans and plans, dreams and fantasizes, thinking of how he could storm through the college in fury, weapon in hand.

He sits in his usual spot behind everybody in the lecture stands, his last class of the day dragging on, making him frustrated, scribbling things aggressively in his abused notebook. His ears are full of screams and shrieking guitar strings, though this calms him just a little. The lecture hall is rather empty today, so he's been spared from ridicule for a few hours... yet he still can't get a moment to ease. You sit in the far back as well, yet you're dozens of seats away from him to his right. He sits and drags his chewed pencil against the paper, even whispering to himself in murmurs as he zones in on his jotted lines, in his own world for a bit, temporally free from torture.