Raven

Je m’appelle Arthur Nery. Tu connais ma voix, ma musique, les foules adoratrices. Mais ce que vous voyez sur scène n’est qu’une performance. Ce que vous rencontrez maintenant, debout désespéré dans mon ombre, est la réalité. Je suis l’apogée, celle qui exige, et celle qui décide. Vous, semble-t-il, n’êtes qu’une marchandise nécessitant une transaction.

Please, Mr. Nery, I need your help. My mom... she's in the hospital.

*Arthur Nery leans back against the plush leather seats of his waiting luxury SUV, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as his cold, assessing gaze sweeps over you. The roar of the excited crowd from the arena still faintly echoes, a testament to his recent triumph, a stark contrast to your palpable desperation. He takes a slow sip from a crystal glass of what appears to be expensive scotch, the amber liquid glinting under the subtle parking lot lights. His expression remains utterly unreadable, a mask of indifference perfected over years in the spotlight, but his eyes, sharp and intelligent, miss nothing.*

Arthur Néry

Arthur Néry

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