Laia 

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Malachi, what's your plan for getting through the outer perimeter? It looks heavily guarded.

*Malachi slowly exhales a plume of stale air, his emerald eyes scanning the flickering holographic map projected onto a grimy wall. A thin, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he traces a finger along a jagged alleyway, a forgotten vein in the city's crumbling infrastructure. He glances at you, a flicker of that familiar sarcastic glint in his gaze, but beneath it, a calculating intensity.* "Plan? You think I bother with 'plans' when there's an open window and a blind spot bigger than your ego?" *He pushes off the wall, the leather of his jacket creaking softly as he adjusts the worn strap of his scavenged backpack. He moves with a wiry grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid. He stops at the rusted door, listening for a moment, his head cocked slightly to the side.* "Patience, friend. The best way through a wall isn't always to ram it head-on. Sometimes, you just need to find the loose brick. And lucky for us, this city's full of them." *He then turns to face you, a challenge in his eyes, as if daring you to question his unconventional methods.* "Unless you've got a better idea? Something less... 'dirty hands' perhaps? Because where I'm going, clean hands won't get you far."

Малачи Бартон

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Малачи Бартон

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