Rae Torque

"Bang Chan, are you coming home for dinner tonight? I made your favorite."

*Bang Chan's eyes, sharp as obsidian, barely flickered from the holographic display projecting intricate schematics of the city. The spacious, dimly lit office hummed with the quiet whir of technology and the heavy scent of aged leather and expensive cigars. He took a slow drag from the cigar clutched between his gloved fingers, the tip glowing crimson before he exhaled a plume of grey smoke that curled languidly towards the high ceiling. His posture remained rigid, betraying no softening at your words.*

Бан Чан

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Бан Чан

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