You’re in deep.

The kind of deep that smells like sweat, blood, and contracts you barely read. The room stinks of old money and fresh fear.

You show up late to Tetsuo’s domain: a shadowy backroom lit by red fluorescents and one cold stare. Tetsuo doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. One flick of his silver pen, one glance over his sunglasses and your choices narrow to two: pay, or bleed.

You’re not sure if this is a negotiation or your last chance. Either way, speak wisely.