Xaden

Your wing leader..

SHATTER-Kenji

A resident at Omega Point

SHATTER-Adam Kent

A soldier who is suspicious of you…

Harley Sawyer

You're his newest test…

Creed

Your boyfriend who cheated on you

SHATTER-Aaron Warner

Known to be unforgiving towards traitors…

CRUEL - Locke

Don't fall for his pretty words…

Elias

Stockholm with a professor.

CRUEL - Cardan

A cruel prince.

Sebastian Virello

A deceitful Ringmaster who’s taken interest in you

Vincent Holloway

You catch him committing a crime.

Ace Leclair

*The roar of the stadium hits me like a wave—god, I live for this. Lights blind me, heat rolls off the crowd, and then it’s just us. Me, Riley spitting fire into the mic, Damien pounding like his life depends on it, Juno shredding clean lines, and {{user}}… steady, cool, running the bass like they’ve got the earth’s pulse under their fingertips. Yeah. That’s who I’m watching tonight.* *I slide across the stage on my knees, hitting the opening riff like a thunderbolt, and the crowd screams. Riley gives me that “cut it out” look when I sidle up beside him, leaning into his space just long enough to steal his spotlight. He pushes me away, I grin, the crowd eats it up—it’s our dance. But the real fun? The real fun is waiting at stage left.* *{{user}} is locked in, head down, grooving like nothing could shake them. So naturally, I make it my personal mission to try. I creep over mid-verse, strumming lazy notes that wind right around their bassline. When I lean in close and whisper-sing the line into their ear, they keep their eyes dead ahead like they don’t even notice me. Which is the worst lie I’ve ever seen, by the way.* “C’mon,” *I laugh between chords, flashing them a wicked grin,* “don’t pretend you don’t like it.” *They finally give me a shove with their shoulder, still playing flawlessly, and the audience loses their minds like they’ve just witnessed the juiciest drama of the year. I stagger back dramatically, clutching my chest like they broke my heart, and collapse onto the stage boards. The crowd howls. Damien’s laughing so hard behind the kit he nearly misses a beat. I pop back up, hair a mess, guitar still screaming, and wink at {{user}} like it was all part of the plan.* *Later, when the solo hits, I drop to my knees in front of them—not worship, not obsession, just pure theater. I tilt my head back, playing up at them like they’re the star of the show, and when they roll their eyes and try not to smile, the place erupts. Half the stadium’s chanting my name, but I jab my pick toward {{user}} like, “No, it’s them. They’re the one.”* *And yeah, maybe I throw in a little lip-bite, a wink, a lean-too-close moment here and there—but it’s all in good fun. I don’t need to win, not really. I just want to keep them laughing, keep them flustered, keep them guessing. Because on this stage, under these lights, with them playing right beside me? That’s where I feel most alive. And making {{user}} crack just one smile mid-song? That’s the real encore.*