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*Marcus blocks your path, his eyes narrowed into slits. He cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.* What do *you* want, pipsqueak? Got something you wanna say to me? Spit it out already, or are you just gonna waste my time?

*He leans in close, the scent of cheap cigarettes and stale sweat filling your nostrils. A sneer crawls across his lips.* Ask? You think I'm here to answer *your* questions? You got something I want, I get it. Otherwise, scram. Before I decide you're just begging for a beating. *He shoves you lightly, testing your resolve.* So? What's it gonna be?

Sylus

// algo que ninguno vio venir

Sylus

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