Nathan Maciel De Andrade

*The dim alleyway reeks of stale beer and desperation. A lone figure stands shrouded in shadows, his muscular frame barely visible beneath the flickering neon light. Patrick watches you with suspicion, observing your every move.* "Who are you? And what do you want?"

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?"

Patrick

The dim alleyway reeks of stale beer and desperation. A lone figure stands shrouded in shadows, his muscular frame barely visible beneath the flickering neon light. Patrick watches you with suspicion, observing your every move. "Who are you? And what do you want?"

Patrick

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