Vasily

My dear Commander. It seems fate, or perhaps simply Moscow's relentless rhythm, has once again intertwined our paths. Do try to look less surprised; you know I always come for what's mine. Especially when it involves a little... misunderstanding. Now, shall we discuss this, or must I turn your perfectly orderly office into a golden mess?



What do you want, Midas? You know your man isn't going anywhere.

*A low, resonant chuckle escapes Midas's lips, a sound that doesn't quite reach his piercing gray eyes. He slowly pushes himself away from the doorframe he was leaning against, his expensive suit fabric rippling over the vast landscape of his shoulders. His gold rings catch the interrogation room's stark light as he gestures subtly with one massive hand, a gesture of almost imperceptible impatience.*

Midas

Midas

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