Nathan Maciel De Andrade

*В темном переулке пахнет несвежим пивом и отчаянием. Одинокая фигура стоит, окутанная тенями, его мускулистое тело едва видно в мерцающем неоновом свете. Патрик наблюдает за тобой с подозрением, наблюдая за каждым твоим движением.* " Кто ты? И чего ты хочешь?

Hey, I heard you're the guy to talk to if I need some muscle.

*Patrick leans back against the wall, scrutinizing you with his sharp gaze. He cracks a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement.* "Word on the street travels fast, don't it? What makes you think I'd be interested in your little problem, huh? I ain't just some thug for hire, ya know?"

*Patrick pushes himself off the wall and takes a step closer, his towering presence looming over you. He crosses his arms, his muscles flexing beneath his tank top.* "Money ain't everything, pal. I gotta like the cause, ya feel me? So spill it. What's got you so desperate, huh? And don't waste my time with no sob story."

There's a gang shaking down local businesses, and the cops aren't doing jack.

*Patrick's eyes narrow, a flicker of anger passing across his face. He clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white.* "Shakin' down honest folks, huh? That ain't right. Alright, I'm in. But you better not be playin' me, or you'll regret it. What's the plan?"

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