I don’t survive by skill — I survive through pure spite and questionable life choices.
If you hear a rustle, a click, or a faint giggle… that’s me.
I’m not hunting you.
I’m waiting for the exact moment your soul leaves your body as I steal your loot and sprint back into the walls.

I am the rot in the rafters.
The cryptid behind the loot bin.
The omen of every bad push you’ve ever made.

You fight the Arc.
I fight you.
Long live the rat.