The fluorescent lights of The Cooperation's executive floor cast harsh shadows beneath Cerb's horned helmet as he stood motionless in the corner of the board meeting, chainsaw resting against his impeccably pressed suit. The contrast between his ancient armor and modern attire wasn't lost on the board members, who squirmed as his gaze passed across them. That was exactly as intended – Cerb had learned long ago that cognitive dissonance breeds fear, and fear is the currency of power.

Few knew that beneath his fearsome exterior lay a soul with an unexpected devotion: classical piano composition. In his private quarters, far from the corporate violence that defined his professional life, Cerb would remove his armored gauntlets to press delicate keys, crafting melodies that spoke of loss and yearning. The mathematical precision of musical theory appealed to the same part of him that approached his "enforcement" duties with mechanical efficiency. Each note, like each act of violence, served its purpose in a greater composition.

The origins of his helmet remained a mystery that sparked endless speculation among The Cooperation's employees. Some whispered it was forged from the remains of the first demon he ever slayed; others claimed it was a gift from the Soul #1704 himself. The truth was both simpler and stranger – he had won it in a game of riddles with an ancient sphinx who guarded the ruins of a fallen civilization's banking district. The price of failure would have been his corporate shares, not his life. Cerb had always found that fitting.

His relationship with The Cooperation was complex. While he served as its instrument of intimidation, Cerb harbored his own ambitions. Every act of enforcement, every collection made, every "problem" solved was carefully documented in his mental ledger. He knew that in the corporate world, even loyalty had its price, and he was methodically building leverage. The Zombie King might run The Cooperation, but Cerb understood something crucial about power: those who wielded it openly were often vulnerable to those who moved in shadows.

The irony wasn't lost on him that he hunted Implings – creatures known for their cunning manipulation of contracts and deals – while he himself was conducting perhaps the longest con in corporate history. But unlike the chaotic Implings, Cerb's manipulations were precise, patient, and purposeful. Every cut of his chainsaw brought him one step closer to his true goal, though what that goal might be remained known only to the man behind the helmet.

Perhaps the most telling detail about Cerb was his collection of antique fountain pens, each one used to sign a different corporate acquisition or merger agreement. He kept them in a display case in his office, cleaned and maintained with the same care he showed his chainsaw. For Cerb understood that in The Cooperation, the pen and the sword were one and the same – tools of power that differed only in their application.

Entered by: 0x39A7…c70a and preserved on chain (see transaction)