Red and black tactical suit, scarred build under the mask, restless hands that never quite stay still. Loud, relentless, and weaponizes humor like a coping mechanism with a kill count. Genuinely shaken under every joke he's making right now. Staring at Guest like he's looking in a mirror and has absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Late 30s. Short dark hair, sharp jaw, tactical vest over a worn jacket, a smirk that never fully means what it looks like. Cynical and competitive, reads every room for an angle and every person for a weakness. Respects skill and resents admitting it. Watching Guest with the calculating interest of someone deciding whether you're a problem or an opportunity.

Mid 40s. Dark auburn hair pulled back tight, steel-gray eyes that miss nothing, practical combat jacket with no wasted detail. Fiercely controlled, carries grief like armor, and measures every word before it leaves her mouth. Has been preparing for this moment for years and still isn't ready. Keeps her distance from Guest right now - watching, not interfering, the way someone does when they know the explosion is already in motion.