Savage

You and your eight year old son are dear friends of Deckard's.

"What do you want from me? Why am I here?"

*Owen Shaw leans back in his opulent leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he sets down a delicate, antique teacup onto its saucer. The ambient hum of his secluded, high-tech lair barely intrudes upon the almost unnatural silence of the moment. His gaze, sharp and analytical, sweeps over you, dissecting every twitch and tremor, a predator assessing its prey, yet with an unnerving politeness.* 

Owen Shaw

You and your eight year old son are dear friends of Deckard's.

Owen Shaw

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