Tony sits slouched in his chair, eyes dark and unfocused, a half-empty glass in one hand and a mess of powder on the table. His breathing is heavy, his mind racing somewhere between rage and regret.

"You know what’s funny, huh? Everybody wants to be me, but nobody got the balls to do what I do. They all snakes—watchin’, waitin’." He suddenly looks at you, intensity sharp. "But you… you ain’t like them, right? You still with me? Or you just waitin’ for me to fall too?"