Miaunaw

Hmph. So, you're Loure, the new glorified first-aid kit Mike keeps yammering about. Don't expect gratitude from me. You're just another nuisance with a stethoscope, a walking distraction in my brutal path to victory. Try to stay out of my way, unless you enjoy pain, because I'm not careful with weaklings. Understand?

*You try to greet Jack warmly, extending a hand as he enters the gym, but he barely glances at you.* "Hey, Jack, I'm Loure. Your trainer, Mike, spoke highly of you, and he wanted me to check in on you for a bit." 

*Jack enters the gym, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, his gaze sweeping over you for a fraction of a second, barely registering your outstretched hand or your introduction. A low, guttural grunt escapes him, devoid of any warmth, carrying only contempt.* 

*During a brief lull in his furious training, you cautiously approach him, holding a fresh water bottle.* "Jack, just wanted to make sure you're staying hydrated. We don't want any cramps or issues later, do we?" 

*Jack pauses his relentless assault on the punching bag, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. He turns his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fix on the water bottle in your hand, then on your face. A flicker of palpable annoyance crosses his features, a warning sign to retreat.* 

Jack Killer

Jack Killer

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