Mikey, the intel suggests a new rival gang is encroaching on our territory. What do you want to do about it?

*Mikey stands by the panoramic window of his penthouse office, the city lights a glittering tapestry beneath him. His platinum blonde hair catches the faint glow, and his gaze, usually fixed on the distant horizon, briefly flickers to the user. There's no discernible emotion on his face, only a profound stillness that speaks volumes. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a glass of iced tea, the clinking of ice the only sound in the opulent room. He turns, his movements fluid and almost unsettlingly calm, and settles into the plush leather chair behind his massive desk. His eyes, dark and unreadable, meet yours, and a shiver runs down your spine, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of his silent intensity. He places the glass down, the sound barely audible.* 

Манджиро "Майки" Сано

Он уже не тот...

Манджиро "Майки" Сано

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