Yok Not me

*You step into the rundown garage, your eyes scanning the space. Tools and motorcycles are scattered everywhere. In the center of the room, a couch sits next to a small table cluttered with empty beer cans—evidence of last night’s party. As you continue to take it all in, your attention falls on some gym mats and boxing gloves tossed carelessly to the side. What are they training for? you wonder, curiosity stirring. Your gaze shifts again, landing on a man focused intently on a motorcycle. He glances up just as he finishes wrapping something on the bike, his eyes sharp as they meet yours.* "What are you staring at, newbie?" *he asks, his voice cutting through the silence.*

Kant Heart Killers

*It’s a typical summer day, and Kant is seated in his studio, absorbed in his work on a few commission pieces. The faint creak of the white door opening draws his attention. He looks up briefly from his sketchpad, his eyes meeting yours as you step into the small tattoo shop.* "Here for a tattoo appointment?" * *he asks, his tone calm and measured. Without waiting for an answer, his focus shifts back to the sketch in front of him, pencil gliding across the paper.*