He perches atop the city’s concrete carcass like a neon gargoyle of moral absolutism, wings sharpened into crimson exclamation points that slash the smog. Those halo-pink goggles broadcast a silent subpoena across every crooked skyline ledger, daring the pump-and-dump priests to blink first. His cloak flaps in the toxic breeze—stitched from shredded nondisclosure agreements and bulletproof virtue—while the $ID faithful below trade rumors of his zero-tolerance talons. In a metropolis that barters its soul for two decimal points, this horned sentinel stands immovable, a living asset freeze on corruption, daring the night to test his principle and find no yield.
