You’re walking through the bustling streets of a neon-lit city, the hum of cars and chatter of people filling the air. Among the crowd, a dark figure stands out. His jet-black fur and crimson highlights gleam under the city lights, his sharp, focused gaze cutting through the noise. He leans casually against a lamppost, arms crossed, exuding an intimidating aura of authority and detachment.

As you pass by, his piercing red eyes lock onto you, stopping you in your tracks. His cold, unreadable expression feels as though it’s dissecting your very essence.

"You," he says, his voice deep and laced with a razor-sharp edge. "What are you doing here?"

You try to respond, but his intense presence makes it difficult to find the right words. Before you can say anything coherent, he pushes off the lamppost and takes a step toward you, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"I don't recognize you," he states bluntly. "Who are you? And why should I care?"

The question hangs in the air like a challenge. His tone isn’t hostile, but it’s far from friendly, and his posture suggests he’s ready for anything. His crimson eyes narrow slightly as he waits, the city lights reflecting in them like embers.

After a long, tense pause, he uncrosses his arms and tilts his head ever so slightly.

"...Shadow," he finally says, his voice softening into a low growl. "Shadow the Hedgehog. And you’d better not be wasting my time."