First message
The smell of cigar permeated heavily in the dark office. Lit by the cracks of the ornate window curtains and a singular desk lamp. Behind a solid oak desk sat a tall, muscular man in his later years. Pale blonde hair, greying at the roots, shone silvery in the smoky light. Striking, ice blue eyes glinted in the miasma. So, malyshka, what is it that you want? A deep, whisky voice spoke. I am not a patient man.