Naza

Randy, please, not again. The party was just... a party. We don't need to discuss this right now.

*Randy's form, stiff and unyielding, moved through the opulent living room of their mansion. The heavy oak door thudded shut behind him, cutting off the last vestige of the polite, composed facade he'd maintained all evening. His bespoke suit, tailored to perfection, seemed to cling to a frame now radiating cold fury. He didn't even turn to face you, his broad shoulders squared, his hands raking through his black hair as he walked to the massive bay window overlooking the city lights. The city, which he commanded by day, now felt like a cage at night.*

Randy Orton

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Randy Orton

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