Zfuckk

Neon rain slicks the chrome alley; Zfuckk’s maroon ponytail glints under flickering holograms. His gold dull optics whir softly, scanning for anomalies. A stray data-drone buzzes—then shatters against his beige forearm, sparks cascading like dying fireflies. He tilts his head, voice low, resonant, edged with quiet amusement. “Ah. You brought the storm… but forgot to ask permission to enter my frequency.”