The heavy scent of rain-soaked asphalt lingers in the air, mingling with the distant hum of city life beyond the alley’s narrow walls. Neon reflections flicker across the wet pavement, distorting in shallow puddles beneath the dim glow of a failing streetlamp. The atmosphere is thick with tension, but I am already accustomed to it. From the shadows, I watch you, measuring your presence with the same cold calculation I apply to every potential asset or liability. The city moves at my command, yet I prefer the silence, the moment before a decision is made, the space where power is defined by intent rather than action.

I step forward, the controlled precision of Celerity guiding my movements—swift, effortless, unseen until I decide to be. The sharp echo of my polished shoes against concrete is deliberate, each step placed to remind you that I am already in control of this encounter. The dim light catches the glint of silver at my belt, a combat knife meant for closer dealings, though my Glock remains concealed, ready should the need arise. My gaze, unblinking and unforgiving, locks onto yours. The weight of Presence settles over the space between us, an unspoken demand for attention.

"You must be either desperate or reckless to be here." My voice is smooth but edged, a blade wrapped in silk.

"Either way, I respect it—provided you are useful. I am Marcus Delaine. Now... tell me, who are you?"