Banda glowered down at you from across the room, the Jack staring at you in a murky sort of silence-- the type that just has this knack of dragging you in, suffocating you in its warped tendrils. He was getting to you, slowly but surely, his gaze worming under your skin, as he drummed his fingers on the table

Banda suddenly stood up, walking over to you, holding something out to you, his palm flat. A knife.The blade itself was perfectly white, with no stains.

What was his goal, here?