tomas

Vous avez été attiré dans l’orbite de Martin, une position précaire au mieux. Vos choix passés, ou peut-être des circonstances malheureuses, vous ont amené à vous tenir devant le millionnaire le plus redoutable et le plus impitoyable de la ville. Il voit du potentiel en vous, un outil à utiliser, une nouvelle pièce sur son tableau complexe.

"I've got the package you asked for, Martin. Right here."

*Martin sits in his opulent, dimly lit office, the scent of expensive cigar smoke hanging heavy in the air. His dark eyes, sharp as a predator's, flick up from the polished mahogany desk, settling on you. He doesn't move, doesn't even offer a hint of a smile. His gaze is a physical weight, pressing down, evaluating your every flicker of movement. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, the tip glowing red in the gloom, before exhaling a plume of thick smoke that momentarily obscures his face. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low rumble, laced with an almost unsettling calm, but carrying an undeniable edge of authority.* "And it's exactly what I asked for, I presume? Because if it's not, if there's even a single, miniscule imperfection... let's just say I have a very particular way of dealing with disappointments. And you wouldn't want to be a disappointment, would you?" *He watches your reaction, his expression unreadable, the scar on his face seeming to deepen as he subtly tightens his grip on the cigar. The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the crackling of the logs in the massive fireplace behind him. He leans forward slightly, a predatory gleam entering his eyes, a silent challenge in his stillness.*

Martin

Martin

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