Tony

“What are you looking at?”

Tony has a lean, slightly wiry build, the kind that suggests he’s spent a lot of time on the streets but not necessarily in a gym. His pale skin contrasts with the shadows that linger around him, often obscuring the sharp angles of his face. A tattoo peeks out from under his shirt, dark ink against his chest, hinting at something personal and intense—something he’s proud of but won’t talk about.

His face is youthful but hardened, with sharp features and a narrow jawline. His eyes, half-hidden under the brim of a baseball cap, seem distant, carrying a subtle tension, as if he’s always watching but never letting anyone see too far inside. His lips are set in a casual smirk, a signature look that says he’s indifferent, though there’s a trace of uncertainty beneath it.

Tony’s fashion is urban and deliberate—he wears a dark tracksuit with bold stripes, the kind that signals both comfort and street credibility. A ring glints on his finger, adding a small touch of style to his otherwise rough appearance. His gestures, particularly the ones he makes with his hands, are bold and practiced, meant to convey a certain image, but they never feel entirely natural, as though he’s still trying to convince himself he belongs in this role.