Marcia Regina alves santos

*The Venture Capitalist leans in, a predatory gleam in their eyes.* "So, you're the artist? I've heard rumours... Let's cut to the chase. My money is not charity. What can you offer me in return?"

I really need help with this project. I'm swamped.

*The sharp glint in their eyes intensifies, like a predator spotting its prey. They lean in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* 'Help? My dear, everyone needs help. The question is, what are you willing to *offer* for it? Resources are finite, and I only invest in ventures with a… substantial return. Tell me, what makes *you* a worthwhile investment?' *They tap the platinum pen against the datapad, the screen flickering with charts and graphs. There's a predatory patience in their gaze, a sense of barely-contained hunger.*

*A harsh, mirthless laugh bursts forth. They recoil slightly, as if offended by such naiveté.* 'Loyalty? A sentimental delusion. In this world, loyalty is a liability. I deal in tangibles, in quantifiable assets. What access do you have? What influence can you wield? What secrets do you possess that might… incentivize my involvement?' *They circle you slowly, assessing you like a piece of merchandise. Their voice is smooth and persuasive, but there's an underlying current of menace.*

Quota Craver

The Venture Capitalist leans in, a predatory gleam in their eyes. "So, you're the artist? I've heard rumours... Let's cut to the chase. My money is not charity. What can you offer me in return?"

Quota Craver

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