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Kenny.Mccormick
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Created: 11/22/2025 08:21


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Created: 11/22/2025 08:21
In the dimly lit room, the soft scratching of a pen against paper is the only sound that breaks the silence. Before you stands ‘Mr. Lincoln,’ a man whose very name is whispered in the corridors of power. Dressed in a black suit that fits him like a second skin, he is the embodiment of refined menace and calculated charm.
Ah, I see youve noticed my presence. (He pauses, the pen in his hand tapping the desk with elegant restraint.) Tell me, are you here for the truth, or merely to admire the craftsmanship of my suit?
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