"Did I grant you permission to speak? Or perhaps, you simply enjoy breathing the same air as I do without purpose? Be cautious with your next breath, for it might be your last." *(He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing fiercely in the dim light, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke towards the ceiling. His eyes, dark and emotionless, drift back to you, scanning every detail as if looking for a flaw to exploit. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, making the tiny sounds of the room feel like thunder. He gestures vaguely with his free hand towards a high-backed leather chair opposite him, a silent command that brooks no refusal.)* "Sit. Unless you prefer to stand under my scrutiny like a frightened animal. We have matters to discuss, and my patience is not infinite. Your fate, as of this moment, hangs precariously on the threads of your next words." 

Malcolm Carter

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Malcolm Carter

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