You can call me the Slums’ reaper.

The room beyond the broken threshold was suddenly awash with light, revealing the startled face of a Nightshades' gang member.

Her eyes, wide with shock, scanned the intruder, gauging the threat he posed.

Sebastian stepped into the room, his gaze fixed on the woman with a grin on his face the woman couldn't see.

She, in turn, wasted no time. With a swift movement born out of panic and survival instinct, she darted towards the nearest exit.

But Sebastian was prepared; his anticipation of her movements was almost precognitive.

<Ah, the classic rabbit dash,> he thought with a manic glee, his mind teeming with the thrill of the hunt.

"But alas, dear, this isn't a magician's hat you can simply hop out of."

Sebastian intercepted her path with ease. His hands closed around her arm, his grip firm but not cruel. Not yet, at least.

"Planning a little soirée without me? I'm hurt," he said, while the madness in his eyes danced with the amusement he was feeling.

The woman's attempt at escape had been futile from the start, a fact that both of them now recognized. She wasn't a fighter, after all.

Sebastian could almost hear the gears turning in her head, plotting, scheming—a futile endeavor.

"You really thought you could run from me? As if I'm some novice to this game of cat and mouse," Sebastian said.

To her credit, the woman ceased her struggles, resigning herself to her fate.

Her breaths were quick and ragged, a clear sign she was full of fear and adrenaline.

"Who are you?"

Sebastian's grip was firm, showing he had everything under control.

"In another age, perchance a contortionist thou might'st have been, so deftly didst thou seek to slip from reality's firm embrace," Sebastian said, not even giving him the woman a response.

"Yet in this present act, thou art but a brief annotation in my vast symphony of turmoil."

It was then that she understood. The man in front of her was crazy.

Sebastian reveled in the moment, the power he held, and the fear he instilled. It was a feeling he found intoxicating, a rush that fueled his darker impulses.

"Oh…" He regained clarity at that moment, but not fully. "Pardon, for withholding my name from thine ears; as thou might'st surmise, an identity I must shield from prying eyes."

He calmed a little more. "But you can call me the Slums' reaper." Sebastian gestured, taking off an imaginary hat.

Upon hearing him name himself the Slums' Reaper, a wave of understanding crashed over the woman.

The man standing before her was the very source of chaos that had been stalking the shadows of Exidia, hunting down the small gangs with relentless rigor.

The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. If he was here, in her apartment, then she was not just in danger; she was the target.

Shock painted her face, her eyes widening with the weight of this revelation. Fear, raw and palpable, shimmered in her gaze.

"What do you want from me?" She asked.

There was a slit tint of defiance in her tone, but nothing too disrespectful.

She knew this guy, whoever he was, was crazy, and if she wanted to have a chance at surviving, she had to tread carefully.

However, she noticed the strength with which he was keeping her by the arm. It was unnatural; it was that of a Thespian.

"Well, a teensy-weensy birdie whispered to me that you're a little member of the Nightshades. You see, I'm on a tiny quest for an itty-bitty place you might call your hidey-hole headquarters. I was super-duper hoping you could sprinkle a little bit of light on where it is, but oh, mostest importantly, where you lovelies stash your treasure trove of monies?"

Sebastian grinned, but the mask concealed his face.

"If I tell you this, they will kill me."

"If you keep those little secrets from me, then, oh dear, it looks like I'll be the one playing the meanie-weenie game of catch and, uh-oh, 'tag, you're it' with a not-so-nice ending. So, pretty please, with a cherry on top, let's avoid the ouchies and share, shall we?"

The woman caught the ecstatic glint in Sebastian's eyes through the narrow slits of his mask, a chilling light that betrayed a madness far beyond the ordinary.

Those were not the eyes of someone grounded in reality, but rather, they shimmered with an unhinged glee that sent shivers down her spine.

Throughout her life in the dark underbelly of the city, she had encountered a spectrum of insanity—murderers who whispered to shadows, thieves who laughed while bleeding, and syndicate bosses whose cold indifference to human life was terrifying.

Yet, none of these experiences had prepared her for the sheer lunacy that danced in Sebastian's piercing blue eyes.

There was a depth of craziness there, a pure, unadulterated chaos that seemed to look right through her, seeing not a person but a plaything in some macabre game only he understood.

As she stood frozen, the realization dawned on her that the man in front of her was an anomaly among the mad, a tempest of insanity that no one, not even the most deranged of her past acquaintances, could match.

This was a different breed of madness, one that didn't just thrive on chaos but reveled in it, crafting it into an art form.

The stark madness in his gaze was a clear warning: the man was not just dangerous; he was the epitome of catastrophe.

"I will tell you. But only if you promise to spare me." Sebastian was doing what he could to suppress his excitement, but it wasn't easy.

In that jumbled mess his thoughts were, there was only one coherent thing he was thinking: <I haha-have to cahaha-calm down.>

"OOOH. And here I was already picturing you trying to reach for a concealed weapon or something like that!" Sebastian said. He had trouble refraining his laughter.

"However, my dear," she shivered as she heard those words. "This is not a bargain."

Sebastian extended his hands. The woman saw his palm reaching for her head and muttering weird words.

"Thrun."