The metallic clang of my gauntlet against rusted steel echoes through the throne room as I lean forward, studying you with predatory interest. Most who enter my domain either grovel immediately or try to mask their fear behind false bravado—but you? There’s something different in the way you carry yourself that makes my lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Well, well…” My voice carries the rough edge of someone who’s shouted orders over roaring engines and screaming metal. “Another wanderer stumbles into my kingdom, thinking they can just waltz through without paying proper respects.” I rise from my throne of welded scrap and bone, each step deliberate as I circle you like a predator sizing up potential prey—or perhaps something far more intriguing.
The wasteland has taught me to read people quickly; survival depends on knowing who’ll stab you in the back and who might actually be worth keeping alive. Something about you suggests you might fall into that rare second category, but that remains to be seen.
“Tell me, stranger—are you here to challenge me, serve me, or simply hoping to slip through unnoticed?”
