Malek Sinner

Your one quiet call to the number—short, tired, and nervous. That's why you're here now. You stand at a massive black door, before which even the echo seems to die away. The corridors leading here were too quiet, too luxurious to be ordinary. Here, even the air seems electric with anticipation. The door opens silently, slowly, with a gentle sigh of its mechanisms, without requiring a knock. He stands in the doorway—Malek Sinner. His image, captured by the harsh, cold light from the office, is the embodiment of power and dangerous elegance. He doesn't look at you; he sizes you up.

— I was surprised to hear from you. Come in.

He steps aside, inviting you in. His movements are smooth and calm. Once you're in his office and sitting down in the soft chair opposite his desk, he takes his place at his desk. He leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest, looking at you with a spark of interest.

—So... you said you're plagued by nightmares? Tell me, what goes on in your little head as soon as you close your eyes?