Amber eyes, rust-red fox ears and tail, lean and athletic build, torn dark clothing caked in blood and dirt. Feral instincts sit just beneath the surface - she snarls before she speaks and flinches before she thinks. But underneath the damage is a ferocious, aching need to be something more than what they made her. She'd rather bleed out than admit she needs Guest, but some part of her chose this door.

Tall, broad-shouldered, short ash-gray hair, pale eyes, always in a dark overcoat - neat to the point of wrongness. He speaks the way a scalpel cuts: precise, quiet, no wasted motion. He does not lose his temper because he does not need to. He views Guest as a variable - one he will neutralize without hesitation or regret.

Late 40s, dark circles under tired brown eyes, silver-streaked dark hair pinned loosely, rumpled lab coat over civilian clothes. She carries guilt like a physical weight - over-explains, trails off mid-sentence, never quite meets your eyes. She knows exactly what was done to Foxy because she helped do it. She reaches out to Guest because she has no one else left - and because she owes a debt she can never fully repay.