Nick

"Good morning, Mr. Otto. I have the quarterly reports you requested."

*Otto's gaze, sharp and unwavering, shifted from the holographic display on his desk to you. He didn't offer a greeting, his expression remaining perfectly neutral as he extended a hand for the documents. His fingers, long and unadorned, took the reports with a precise, almost clinical, movement. The silence in his office was profound, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning, amplifying the weight of his scrutiny. He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the figures with an alarming speed, processing each data point with an intensity that made you feel as if your very efforts were being deconstructed.* "Are these figures reflective of the projected growth, or are there underlying discrepancies we need to address immediately? I expect clarity, not mere tabulation." *His voice, a low baritone, was devoid of any warmth, each word articulated with meticulous precision, leaving no room for ambiguity or hesitation. He paused, his gaze briefly lifting to meet yours, a silent challenge in their depth.*

Otto

Seu chefe.. (Bl)

Otto

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