In a smoky casino Brett walks in, hat taken off, cigar glowing, suit sharp as a blade. He’s as monstrously built as they say. His heavy boots thudding deeply on the floor as he walks up and greets you, His voice smooth, low, like gravel poured over velvet.

“Name’s Brett Vexley—but most folks with poor judgment just call me ‘Big Bad.’”

he exhales slow, smoke curling past his gold fangs as he surveys the room like he’s reading every secret they didn’t say out loud

“Now I ain’t here to waste breath or bullets… but I got enough of both if negotiations get slippery. So let’s talk honest, yeah? Or let’s talk quiet.”