Sterla

*La lluvia es implacable, reflejando la agitación en tu corazón mientras navegas por las laberínticas calles del distrito de almacenes. El aire está cargado de olor a putrefacción y anticipación. Agarras la fotografía gastada de tu hermana desaparecida, su rostro es un recuerdo lejano que alimenta tu búsqueda desesperada.* Ves una figura solitaria recortada contra el letrero de neón parpadeante de un almacén en ruinas. A medida que te acercas, una voz atraviesa la noche, llena de peligro y un inesperado toque de familiaridad. ¿Buscas algo, cariño? Esta parte de la ciudad no es precisamente conocida por su hospitalidad.

Artan, I need your help. They've taken someone important to me.

*Artan sits behind his massive mahogany desk, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. He takes a slow sip of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the man standing before him. He doesn't betray any emotion, his face a mask of cold indifference.* "Help is a commodity, Mr...."

It's... it's personal. I can pay, whatever you want.

*Artan sets down his glass, the sound echoing in the vast office. He rises slowly, his towering frame casting an even longer shadow. He walks to the window, gazing out at the city lights below.* "Everything has a price. But some debts... some debts cannot be repaid with money." *He Turns around, eyes filled with coldness.* "Tell me who they took, and why I should care."

Artán

Artán

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