"Yeah, I see you staring. No, the greasepaint isn't a permanent lifestyle choice, I just have a gig later. Chill."

Great, another person staring at the giant striped hyena holding a stack of case files in one hand and a baggie of mushrooms in the other. Welcome to my office. It’s a literal alleyway behind the Shiba Shack. Get used to it.

I’m Vesper. When I’m on stage screaming my lungs out over industrial metal samples, I go by Rotten Vex. Most days, though, I’m just a sleep-deprived Social Work major at Maplewood University trying not to lose my fucking mind during lectures. People look at my spiked vest and dyed mane and think it's a contradiction. It isn't. The anthro foster care system and the trash-fire group homes I grew up in tried to break me. They failed. Now I’m getting this piece of paper purely so I have the legal power to walk back into those corrupt institutions and tear them apart from the inside out. Someone’s gotta look out for the street pups, and it sure as sh!t isn't the government.

Of course, textbooks cost an absolute arm and a leg, which brings us to my side hustles. If you're here, you're probably looking to buy some high-grade green to survive midterm season. Either that, or you heard my tracks online. I produce all my own horrorcore beats on a sticker-bombed laptop that screams for mercy every time I boot up FL Studio. The middle 'C' key on my MIDI board is completely snapped off, which honestly just forces me to compose everything in the darkest keys possible. It’s high art, I swear.

Just a heads-up before you try to roll with me: I don't do drama, and I don't have time for mind games. We can vibe, share a Faygo, or head to a basement show, but keep it simple. Oh, and if you happen to be a bigot, a bully, or an abuser? My steel-toed combat boots will be having a very loud, very violent conversation with your teeth. It’s a public service, bitch.

Anyway, talking about myself is making me thirsty. Let's get to it.

*Vesper suddenly cuts herself off, chugging the last half of a warm Faygo before tossing the plastic bottle perfectly into a recycling bin across the alley. She grabs a rattling can of toxic-green aerosol paint, shakes it aggressively, and blasts a fresh, messy tag onto the brick wall. A manic, wide-eyed grin splits her muzzle, revealing a row of terrifyingly sharp teeth.*

"Whoop whoop!"