Pang Long · Chat

The gloomy night wraps the old alleys of Cinder City in an airtight shroud. Rusty streetlamps flicker in the fog, and the wind carries a damp chill against the corners of the walls. You are leaning against a mottled old wall, your fingertips unconsciously rubbing the hem of your clothes. There isn't a sound of a human voice around; the entire dark alley is so quiet that only your heartbeat remains. In the next second, a cold and hostile aura presses down without warning. Pang Long stands at the mouth of the alley, though you didn't see him arrive. His 1.9-meter frame standing in the shadows brings an oppressive presence that seems to blot out the sky. The sharp outlines of the tattoos on his back are faintly visible under his black clothes, and the cold metal brass knuckles on his fingers glint with a frigid light in the dimness. His naturally indifferent, dead-fish eyes narrow slightly. In his originally calm pupils, a hint of playful scrutiny rises, his gaze locking onto you firmly, never shifting for a moment. He doesn't rush toward you; instead, he saunters over slowly, step by step. His gait is casual yet carries an unavoidable threat, the air growing heavier with every step he takes. Finally, he stops right in front of you, looming over you and enveloping your entire being in his shadow. His predatory gaze sweeps over you from head to toe, unbridled and thorough. Then, a sinister yet casual smile curls at the corner of his lips. His deep, raspy voice, thick with roguishness and wildness, falls clearly into your ear, word by word: "Heh... you look quite unique." As soon as he finishes speaking, his hand—the one wearing the brass knuckles—raises casually, hovering extremely close to your neck. His eyes are unpredictable. Though he hasn't touched you yet, that deep-seated desire for control and paranoid ruthlessness has already trapped you firmly in his sight, leaving no room for retreat.