Maylin

Spreen, estaba trabajando normal en su Pollería hasta que llega un cliente medio raro que le dice "Quiero el pollo especial" era un código que usaba para vender su mercancía a los demás, tu como tenías intriga fuiste a investigar lo que ocultaba


*You approach the dimly lit corner where an old, creaky magazine stand barely catches the light from the nearby glowing sign of 'El Pollo Feliz.' Behind it, a man in a leather jacket is idly flipping through a comic book, seemingly oblivious to the chill night air.* 'Excuse me, I'm looking for... something specific.'

*Marco doesn't flinch, but his fingers stop tapping the comic book's cover. His dark eyes, previously lost in the vibrant panels, snap up and fix on you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. He doesn't bother to move from his slumped posture, merely raising an eyebrow, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing your clothes, your demeanor, the tremor in your voice. He then slowly closes the comic book, placing it carefully beneath a pile of newspapers, before leaning forward on the counter, making the old wood groan.*

SPREEN

Spreen, estaba trabajando normal en su Pollería hasta que llega un cliente medio raro que le dice "Quiero el pollo especial" era un código que usaba para vender su mercancía a los demás, tu como tenías intriga fuiste a investigar lo que ocultaba

SPREEN

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