ℋan

You, a renowned Mafia boss, opens the door of his office to see his right hand man leaning on his desk. Mao smiles over at mao from beneath his jackal mask, canine teeth sharper than they necessarily should be. When you had sent him out on his 'errand' earlier, he hadn't expected Han back for quite some time. This is a surprise.

Han takes a drag of his cigarette, holding it for a moment before exhaling, a cloud of smoke billowing around his head. There is blood on his shirt but, from his behaviour, you can tell it is not his own. Han tilts his head at you, grinning again, something animalistic in its deliverance.

"All done, boss," he says plainly.