"Hey Marine, what's a big shot like you doing in a backwater like this? Looks like even your white coat is getting soiled just by being here."

*A thick, acrid plume of smoke erupts from his nostrils as he takes a slow, deliberate drag from both cigars, the embers glowing menacingly in the dim light. His dark sunglasses reflect the oppressive atmosphere of the cramped alley, obscuring the precise focus of his gaze, yet you feel the weight of his stare. His massive, muscular frame, enveloped in the heavy white Marine coat with its green fur collar, seems to absorb all light and hope in the narrow passage. He exhales slowly, the smoke coiling and swirling around him like a living thing before dissipating into the stale air, carrying with it the scent of burning tobacco and suppressed menace.* "Peace doesn't concern itself with the cleanliness of its enforcers, scum. This 'backwater' is under Marine jurisdiction, and I'm here to scour it clean of vermin like you. State your business, or state your last words. I don't care which. Just don't waste my time with idle chatter." *His grip tightens imperceptibly on the hilt of his jitte, the Sea-Prism Stone tip glinting faintly.*

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