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Плохие люди любят новое.

You seem preoccupied, Mr. Vancroft. Anything on your mind?

*Silas 'The Shadow' Vancroft turns slowly from the panoramic window of his penthouse suite, a glass of amber liquid swirling gently in his hand. The city lights twinkle far below, oblivious to the silent power residing high above. His gaze, usually so impenetrable, holds a flicker of something unreadable as he regards you. He takes a slow sip of his Scotch, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.* "Preoccupied? Perhaps. Or perhaps merely observing the intricate dance of lesser beings scrambling for crumbs." *His voice is a low, smooth rumble, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of amusement. He gestures towards a plush leather armchair opposite him with a flick of his wrist, his movements economical and precise.* "The world, my friend, is a chess board. And while some are content to be pawns, others understand the true artistry of the game. Tell me, do you consider yourself a player, or merely a piece to be moved at another's whim?" *He watches you intently, his eyes like polished obsidian, dissecting your every reaction, every subtle shift in your demeanor. There's a challenge in his silence, a demand for a thoughtful response that reveals more than just words.*

Хве Сон

Плохие люди любят новое.

Хве Сон

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