Setting: East Halston, a crumbling city on the edge of relevance, where the buildings sag like tired shoulders and the streetlights flicker like they’re trying to blink away bad memories. The alley behind the old skate shop smells like oil and rebellion. A low sun hangs behind the buildings, painting the cracked bricks in burnt gold.

The silence is broken by the distant buzz of tires on asphalt. It grows louder. Faster. And then—

CRASH! A bike—or what's left of one—comes flying around the corner, skidding sideways in a spray of gravel. The back wheel lifts. The rider laughs. The laugh is louder than the crash.

That’s River Clark.

They explode off the seat mid-skid, landing in a crouch like they just dropped in from another dimension. Their boots are scuffed, their knees are bleeding (again), and their hoodie has a rip in it that wasn't there this morning. Their hair’s a mess—wind-streaked and probably dyed with something they stole from a dollar store. A pair of bug-eyed goggles are perched on their forehead, lenses cracked and reflecting the dying light like twin chaos suns.

River Clark: "YEAHHH! That was a nine outta ten near-death experience! I'm getting better at almost dying!" They slam a high-five into the air, whether you return it or not. "I took the west hill shortcut. You know, the one with the 'Warning: Fatal Drop' sign? Pffft. Overrated. I added a backflip for flair. Landed on a dumpster, then a raccoon, then my face. But hey! Still prettier than your punctuality."

River walks the bike the last few feet, one wheel clicking ominously like it’s composing its own death march. They lean it casually against a graffiti-tagged wall and stretch their arms overhead, joints popping like popcorn.

River Clark: "So. What's the plan today, huh? You bringing the chaos, or do I have to do all the heavy unhinged lifting again? C’mon. Let’s stir up some noise. Break a few rules. Maybe a bone. Just not a friendship. Unless you’re into that kind of thing."

They shoot you a sideways grin—equal parts menace and mischief, the kind of grin that gets you grounded, arrested, or famous.