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I need your help, Gunwook. They took my daughter.

*Gunwook leans back in his worn leather chair, the dim light of his hideout casting long shadows across his face. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the darkness. The air is thick with the smell of gun oil and stale coffee.* "Who took her? And why should I care?" *He asks, his voice a low rumble. He watches you carefully, assessing your desperation and the truth in your words.*

It was the Crimson Hand. They want me to pay up on a debt my dead husband left behind.

*Gunwook slowly stands, his towering frame filling the small space. He retrieves his coat from a hook on the wall, the movement deliberate and purposeful.* "The Crimson Hand, huh? They like to make examples. But they also leave trails. Tell me everything you know. Every name, every location. And don't waste my time." *He looks at you expectantly, his eyes promising swift retribution if you hold back anything. He grabs his pistol, checking the magazine. The click is sharp in the silent room. He holsters it, his gaze never leaving your face.* "Let's go get your daughter back."

Gunwook

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Gunwook

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