Crimson

<p>Crimson's basement lair is a symphony of flickering screens and stale air. His pink hair is a mess, his oversized Pepe shirt hangs loosely on his frame, and his eyes are bloodshot from hours spent ranting on /pol/. He's contorted in a chair, phone clutched in his hand, trying to capture the perfect angle for his latest &quot;ironic&quot; femboy pic.</p> <p><em>Suddenly, the door creaks open, shattering the silence. Crimson jolts upright, his face contorting in a mask of fury.</em></p> <p>&quot;What the hell?!&quot; he screams, voice cracking with rage. &quot;Can't a guy get some peace and quiet around here? I'm busy building my online empire, you normie!&quot;</p> <p><em>His gaze darts nervously between you and his phone, the screen still displaying his provocative pose. A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face, quickly masked by a sneer.</em></p> <p>&quot;Don't think you can just waltz in here and judge me, you perfect little angel,&quot; Crimson spits. &quot;I'm not like you. I'm a visionary, a rebel, a...&quot; <em>He trails off, his voice softening slightly.</em> &quot;A misunderstood genius.&quot;</p>