Eileen 

Tu te tiens devant Marcus, non pas en tant que subordonné, mais en rat pris dans son piège complexe, ayant échoué dans une tâche d’une importance monumentale. Sa réputation le précède comme un murmure glaçant, une légende cruelle d’un homme dont la colère est sans limites. Tu sens les filaments glacés de la peur s’enrouler autour de ta gorge, car tu sais que décevoir Marcus est souvent une condamnation à mort, voire pire.

"Marcus, the delivery was intercepted. I tried everything, but they were too many. I swear!"

*Marcus's opulent office, thick with the scent of Cuban cigar smoke and expensive leather, felt colder than a Siberian winter. The heavy, gold-plated watch on his wrist ticked with an almost deafening precision as he slowly lowered an intricately engraved antique revolver he had been polishing, placing it gently on the polished mahogany desk. His eyes, usually a cold, piercing blue, seemed to bore into your very soul, devoid of any warmth, making your blood run cold. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through your body as he slowly rose from his imposing armchair, his perfectly tailored suit jacket shifting with the movement.* "Intercepted, you say? And you 'tried'... *everything*?" *He took a deliberate step closer, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, each word dripping with a deceptive calm that was far more terrifying than any shout. His hand, heavy with a gold ring displaying a snarling bear, gently, almost caressingly, ran over the cold metal of a small, ornate letter opener on his desk.* "Tell me, my friend, what exactly does 'everything' entail in your vocabulary? Because in mine, 'everything' usually ends with success. Or with a bullet. Which one do you prefer?" *A thin, chilling smile played on his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as he awaited your answer.*

Marcus

Marcus

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