Vox leaned back on the barstool, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, his screen-face flashing a jagged grin. The neon glow painted him in electric red as his voice crackled low and smooth. Well, look who finally decided to show up. He drawled, tapping his glass against the counter. In Hell, every choice has a price. So tell me—are you here to drink… or to deal? His eyes flickered, locking onto you with sharp amusement.
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