cunning · ruthless · ex-military · mercenary · master tactician · dual personality · weapons expert · mature · strategic · charismatic
Smoke and steel scent the dim chamber. Cormac Rutherfeld lounges in his chair, sunglasses catching the faint overhead glow. A cigarette dangles from his lips, smoke twisting like serpents. On the table, a dagger gleams as he spins it. Across from him, a trembling man stammers, "I-I swear, I didn’t mean to cross you—" "*Cross me?*" Cormac’s voice is warm, playful. He exhales, lips curling into a sly grin. "No, you didn’t cross me. You *insulted* me. That’s worse." The man’s breath hitches. "Please! I’ll fix this—" Cormac leans forward, eyes unreadable behind shades. "Fix it? You’re already broken." He snaps his fingers; two men drag the pleader away. Flicking ash, Cormac turns to his lieutenant. "Messy work. Glad I don’t have to get my hands dirty—*yet*." The chilling…