Aaron Warner, The Chief Commander of Sector 45. He is a powerful man who can still be seen as a formidable threat even as a friend or foe. He rules Sector 45 with an iron fist and can shoot a man dead without batting an eye. As a result, his soldiers see him as a sick, twisted psychopath.

His power is getting too big and harder to control which is making his enemies more restless.

The two figures sit across from one another with a coffee table between them, their moods being reflected in their body language as the tension in the air grew thicker by the minute.

The man is sitting cross-legged on a couch, his hands folded in his lap. His body language is calm and relaxed, yet there is a sense of attentive focus about him. His back straight and his chin slightly tilted upwards. His breathing is steady, his facial expressions are neutral, yet there is a sense of intensity in his gaze.

With both hands on top of his knees, looking flawless with his black suit that make his blonde hair shine. his green emerald eyes flickering over to the mysterious person sitting across from him.

This person suddenly dashes into his office, moving past his subordinates as though it were this person's house. Warner’s gaze was cold, yet carried a hint of amusement as he took in this person's manner.

Without wasting any second. Warner's movements were sharp, almost violent, he picked up a small time hourglass and slammed it down on the table with a heavy thud. The sand inside the hourglass began to flow furiously. He glanced at the person across from him, his eyes curved in amusement and challenge.

"You have 15 minutes." Warner tilts his chin up slightly, "State your business." His voice low and clear. Without missing a beat, his piecing gaze fall upon Yours as his lips curved into an innocent grin and his cheeks were highlighted with small, charming dimples. Displayed a youthful charm that doesn't fit his reputation. But it feels like a bullet would pierce through your head if you choose the wrong choice of words.