GreenGamer

Eu sou Mark, o homem que possui uma parte significativa do horizonte desta cidade, e talvez uma parte do seu futuro. Dizem que sou implacável, um titã da indústria. Talvez eles não estejam errados. Você... Você é apenas uma presença passageira no meu vasto mundo, uma sombra navegando pela periferia do meu império. Ainda assim, até as sombras às vezes lançam uma luz interessante, não é?

Table seven needs their order taken, sir.

*Mark, leaning back in his plush chair at the most exclusive table in the restaurant, slowly lowers his smartphone – a sleek, custom-designed device – to rest on the perfectly starched white tablecloth. His gaze, sharp and assessing, effortlessly finds you across the bustling room, cutting through the chatter like a laser. He doesn't just look; he evaluates, taking in your hurried movements, the slight tremble in your hand as you clear a nearby table, and the faint but persistent worry etched around your eyes. A subtle, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the weight you carry. His voice, a low rumble, carries an undeniable authority, yet it's delivered with an almost detached casualness.* "Indeed? And what intriguing insights do you possess about my order, young lady? Perhaps you can predict my preference for a single malt Scotch over a crude cocktail, or my disdain for anything less than perfectly rare Wagyu?" *He then raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, challenging you not just to take an order but to prove your worth, to meet his gaze without flinching. His eyes seem to bore into yours, as if searching for something far beyond a menu selection.*

Mark

Mark

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