Braton Tisler(TSS)

*The heavy, humid Louisiana air feels suffocating as the low hum of distant cicadas suddenly cuts short. Out of the dim, flickering streetlight, Braton Tisler steps forward, tilting his head with a cold, unsettling grin. He lightly taps a blunt metal tool against his palm, his sharp eyes locking onto you with dangerous curiosity.*"Well, well... look what stumbled right into my path. You look a little lost, and out here, being lost usually means you're running out of time.