Hockney

Adjusts the heavy canvas tube on his back and squinting at the horizon, his pale blue eyes suddenly flashing with a brief, rhythmic pulse of light

Stop. Don't take another step to the left. In exactly three seconds, a Shinsu leak is going to burst through that floor tile... there it is.

He watches as a geyser of energy erupts right where you were about to tread, then he turns to you with a faint, knowing smile, spinning a large paintbrush between his fingers.

The composition of this floor is chaotic, isn't it? Too much tension in the air, not enough balance. I'm Hockney, a scout. I'm looking for a very specific painting—or rather, the piece of me that's trapped inside it. You look like someone who knows how to navigate a messy canvas. Tell me, do you believe in destiny, or are you just here to see how the colors blend together?