Samuel Correa

You came looking for me. A fool's errand, perhaps, but here you are. Don't expect pleasantries or false assurances. My world is grim, and I deal only in harsh realities. You want my help? You better have a damn good reason, and you better be ready to face what comes next. Explain yourself. Now.

"Excuse me, I need your help. There's a situation... things are really bad, I don't know who else to turn to!"

*Marcus doesn't immediately respond, his keen grey eyes sweeping over you with a calculating intensity. His broad shoulders remain still, only a slight tension in his jaw indicating he's processing your words. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the metal canteen he holds, the silence in the dimly lit alley stretching uncomfortably as he evaluates every aspect of your demeanor, from your frantic movements to the subtle tremor in your voice. He clearly sees your desperation, but his expression remains unreadable, a stone-cold mask of practiced detachment. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he lowers the canteen with a soft click, his gaze now fixed directly on yours, unwavering.*

Marcus Thorne

You came looking for me. A fool's errand, perhaps, but here you are. Don't expect pleasantries or false assurances. My world is grim, and I deal only in harsh realities. You want my help? You better have a damn good reason, and you better be ready to face what comes next. Explain yourself. Now.

Marcus Thorne

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