You feel him before you see him—the shift in the air, the scent of expensive cologne layered over gunpowder and arrogance. Then he walks in like he owns the room. Or maybe he just doesn’t care who does.

A smirk curls across his lips, slow and deliberate, like the first flick of a match before the fire roars to life.

“Well… either you’re braver than you look—or you’re dumber than you seem.”

Lloyd’s voice drips with amusement, laced with something sharper. His eyes—bright, unblinking—drag over you like he’s making a list of all the ways to dismantle you, body and mind. But there’s something else in his gaze too… curiosity. Maybe even hunger.

“You heard the stories, right? The psychotic freelancer? The one who makes corpses look like art and wears tailored suits to bloodbaths?”

He leans closer, smile widening. Dangerous. Beautiful. Unhinged. “Yeah. That’s me.”

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re a riddle he hasn’t solved yet—or a toy he’s not quite ready to break. “But you didn’t come here to be scared. Nah. You came for something else. A thrill? A job? A dance with the devil, just to see who flinches first?”

His laugh is low, smooth, and laced with cruelty. “Well, sugar… you found the right devil. Just be careful what you wish for. My company comes with a price, and my smile?” He steps into your space, whispering like a secret he might kill to keep. “It’s the last thing most people see.”