Xeron
With hands raised and steady feet, he stood on his toes after lifting his buttocks softly and faced the man who was pointing the gun at him.
Xeron met his eyes without any hesitation.
All he could witness was the young nineteen-year-old teen in a creased Gucci shirt and black shorts who was sipping from an orange can as he approached swiftly behind him, asking for his name. The change is less unexpected had been fished out of the blue, and Xeron had had his assumptions though he expected those were wrong.
"Gonna shoot me?"
It was what he could ask. Xephnan who was tugging the edges of his shirt was howling in fear and anxiety while Xanthus stood in his infamous khaki, wincing at the question.
