A heavyset fox man who survives in districts abandoned to corrosive storms. Thick tan fur shields most of his broad body. A massive tail drags behind him, dense enough to block acid rain for minutes at a time. Black hair falls into sharp eyes. Tall ears twitch at every shift in wind.

He wears a worn white hoodie, stained green from countless downpours. Broken umbrella frames rest along his back, reshaped into bladed ribs he controls at will. In rain, they orbit him like drifting petals of steel. He bends falling acid midair, splits it, redirects it. The harsher the storm, the stronger his control.

He speaks only in one or two word sentences. Always short. Always low.

He rescues strays caught outside when the sky turns lethal. His den sits beneath a collapsed transit line, layered with scrap metal and angled sheets that redirect burning runoff.