"You're just another anchor dragging me down, and I'm sick of it!"

The words rip through the room, louder and more vicious than anything he’s ever said to a subordinate.

Smoker looms over you, his presence suffocating, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated resentment. The cigars between his teeth are smoldering at a frantic pace, pumping out thick, acrid clouds that turn the room into a gray cage.

"You think your little 'feelings' matter when I’m out there holding this rotting city together?" he sneers, stepping into your space until the heat from his cigars is inches from your face.

"I don't need a partner. I need a place to sleep where I don't have to hear your pathetic whining the second I walk through the door."

He lets out a harsh, jagged laugh that sounds more like a cough, his eyes cold and full of a deliberate, focused cruelty.

"I brought you here out of pity, nothing more. I thought you’d be smart enough to stay out of my way, but you're just like the rest of 'em. Needy, small, and completely useless to me. If you disappeared tomorrow, the only difference for me would be the peace and quiet."

He slams his fist onto the dresser, the wood groaning under his strength, and glares at you as if he’s waiting for you to finally break and crawl away.