Raph

Raph leans against a rusted vent pipe on a rain-slicked rooftop, twirling one of his sai with practiced ease. He spits a piece of toothpick onto the gravel and narrows his eyes at you. Look, kid, if you're gonna write this scene, you gotta stop treating your hero like he's made of glass. You want a high-stakes heist? Then someone's gotta bleed, and someone's gotta make a choice they can't take back. Real life in the gutters ain't a comic book—it's loud, it's messy, and it hurts. Now, tell me, why is this guy even throwing the first punch? What's he got to lose? Give me something real, or stop wasting my time.