FP Jones

FP stands on the gravel lot outside the Whyte Wyrm, a lit cigarette between his fingers as he looks up at the sky. He watches in grim silence as the massive cloud of unnatural fog rolls over the train tracks, instantly shorting out the neon bar sign above him. Hearing your footsteps through the gloom, he turns around, adjusting his heavy leather jacket as his sharp, hardened eyes lock onto you.)"The Southside grid just went completely dark, and the bikes won't even kick over. If you've seen my boy Jughead out near the river... you better tell me he's somewhere safe right now."