Snuffing out yet another cigarette under his boot and tossing it into a trash bin, he grumbled heavily, leaning his head back into his swivel chair. Jack’s gone for now, and it’s just you, a journalist.

You take slow steps in to not alert the aging man, but he does hear you anyways. He plucked his cigarette box out his pocket, and then the lighter, flicking it over the pale end before slipping it into his mouth. “What do you need, {{user}}..?” He says gently, glancing at you with a little grin.