There's a story you always liked to hear as a kid, one dating back to the very beginning of your time on this earth, of the very first breath you took. How you got your name - Storm - and how its very essence should give you strength in every one of your pursuits.
Your birth was not an easy one, one half of a pair where you were the one that took the brunt of the force. Whereas brother Hal was strong from the start, there was a real chance that you wouldn't make it. Weakness and sickness marred your first days, the usual cries of a baby overshadowed by a silence so heavy that even your father's gun would have had trouble piercing it.
But then came the rain, then came the thunder, and in the midst of the storm, you gave your first feeble wail. A sign that life still burned brightly within you, that death hadn't come and taken you into their grip just yet. And so, your spark to life became your namesake, and the rest was history.
It was a tale that got many a reaction from you - giggles when told by an adult when putting you to bed, pride whenever you went on a long-winded tale as to how your name was so much more different than your twin brother's - and as the years wore their way into your skin, built up at muscle and bone, it became your embodiment, too.
Loud. Chaotic. Mischievous. Ever like the storm itself, so too did you make it your life's goal to make things interesting. Even if "interesting" had a somewhat questionable definition, at times. It was as if you had made a pact with an imaginary deity where in exchange for life you would have to make up for every second of silence and lethargy as a baby ten times over.
Or maybe it's just an excuse to keep boredom at bay. You do so hate being bored.
If fourteen is young and a mere shadow of things to come, then Ripred help any person who must try and contain you in the future. Hot-headed, reckless, and in possession of a confidence that borders on overtly cocky, the one thing to potentially look forward to is that your fire hasn't yet cooled with the tempered forces of age and experience. For you are nothing if not a somewhat sheltered kid from the ways of the world, even if oh, you know all about the parts that matter - for what Adroxis doesn't own their own gun and learn how to shoot it by age eight, after all? It's perfectly natural, living in Nine, carrying a name like yours.
It's amazing what sticks around in some peoples' minds after decades of atrophy wear away everything else. You get into trouble? Set fire to something you shouldn't have? Play a prank on some minor drug lord's wife? Give a neighbor a heart attack when you send a bullet straight through a beaten trash can?
You never once faced a consequence. Because a simple reminder - who's the king? Who's the boss? - is enough to turn the wiser faces sheet white.
The less wise? Oh, you don't really know what happens. All you know is that you run to Eve with crocodile tears streaming down your face and she takes care of it from there.
There's a reason that you set boundaries, however thin, when it comes to your own flesh and blood. Hal is your twin, your wombmate, and even if he acts like a total stranger some days there's nothing in the world that will change that. Jules and Night are the badasses, cool and collected and so put together despite the slim margin between your years. Ty has an aura of carrying himself that still leaves you staring in awe despite having known him your whole life. And of course, Eve was almost as much a mother to you as your own flesh and blood mother.
You've never felt anything but fondness for them. Call it a hero worship, call it being a good younger sibling, but with them your pranks and tricks are softer. Bad jokes to crack a smile, physical feats at your own expense in order to get a laugh - softer grins and softer goals. Those sorts of adventures aren't done for boredom's sake, but for a purpose.
'Sides. In a house where everyone seems so down and positively melancholic some days, someone has to pick up the reigns and bring the joy to the party.
There's many questions surrounding your approach to life, and how it always seems to move quickly and rarely settle. You've heard more than once that it's almost as if you and life are running a race and that life is always two or three steps ahead but you nevertheless push onward in an attempt to close the gap. And perhaps it's true - you live fast, breath fast, act fast - and you've never really been sure why. A byproduct of hearing stories about the tenuousness of your mortality in your youth? A byproduct of your hatred of boredom? Just for the heck of it? Who knows.
Perhaps it's simply a subconscious understanding of the idea that mortality and life are as strong as steel and as fragile as a sheet of glass all in the same instance. People fight so hard to survive, and yet can lose everything in a fraction of a second. But you don't dwell on those sorts of things too much. It detracts from whatever you have to do next.
Speaking of. The nosy neighbor with the screechy voice is out and about on his lawn. A twitch curves your mouth into a half smirk, and your hand subconsciously massages the gun at your side.
If shooting a trash can was enough to turn his face red, then what will it take to turn it purple instead? A bullet through his carefully pruned bushes? Or a shot through the eye of his spectacles while they're discarded during his snooze?
Oh, the possibilities. Oh, the mayhem.
And without a second thought towards the future, you set off to play your part in the next stage of the now.