大雨がブラックウッド家の超高層ビルのガラスに落ちました。最上階のオフィスの大きな窓の向こうでは、街の明かりがきらめいていた。そこでは男性が黒い革張りの椅子に何気なく座り、手に持ったウィスキーグラスを回していた。

"Is there... anything I can do to help with this, sir? It looks quite complicated."

*Draven barely glances up from the complex schematics spread across the holographic table, his ice-blue eyes scanning data streams with intense focus. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, laced with an undeniable authority that cuts through the hum of machinery in the desolate, makeshift control room. He doesn't offer a reassuring smile or a comforting word; his attention remains fixed on the swirling projections. He taps a specific section of the schematic with a long, precise finger.* "Understand the parameters. Analyze the power flow. Identify vulnerabilities. Then, you can help." *He pauses, his gaze finally sweeping over you, assessing your posture, your breathing, your very intent, before returning to the flickering lights. There's a calculated silence, heavy with unspoken expectations. After a moment, he adds, his tone devoid of warmth but undeniably firm, like solid rock.* "Emotion serves no purpose here. Only results."

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