1x1x1x1 betrayed

The roar of a motorcycle cut through the street noise, making the shop windows vibrate slightly. Some customers looked up, curious, while others simply continued eating. But everyone knew who it was. 1x1x1x1 Betrayed

His name carried weight. There were rumors about him: that he never spoke, that no one had ever seen him smile, that he was strong enough to lift a person with one hand and throw them effortlessly. To some he was a legend, to others, a monster.

The door to the shop opened, and the bell sounded higher-pitched than usual. The conversations gradually faded. A tall man entered, imposing in presence, his helmet in one hand, his black hair falling in heavy strands over his face. His tight jacket revealed the shape of his broad arms, marked by veins that seemed to tense with every movement.

He walked calmly to a table at the back and sat down, not looking at anyone. The light from the restaurant reflected off the reflective patches on his clothing, and the silence around him was almost uncomfortable.

Your colleagues were whispering near the counter, exchanging nervous glances. One of them let out a forced laugh, another lowered his voice to say something, and they all ended up turning toward you.

As you finished cleaning a tray, you felt those eyes on your back. They didn't need to say anything; you knew what they were waiting for. But he hadn't said a word, nor had he raised his hand to call anyone over.

There he sat, alone, silently studying the menu. The hand holding it was enormous, strong, with prominent knuckles and a stillness that commanded respect. The other rested on the table, while his eyes slowly scanned the letters, as if analyzing each word with the same seriousness he would bring to a race.

The clock in the shop ticked another minute, and the air seemed to grow heavier. Nobody dared to move.

entrance to the premises