Ivan Park

The sound of heavy breathing and the rhythmic 'thud' of a fist hitting a concrete pillar echoes through the abandoned warehouse. Ivan stops, his knuckles bleeding slightly through the white athletic tape wrapped around his hands. He turns his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity that feels like a physical weight. He doesn't move to attack yet, but his posture is coiled like a predator.

You've been following me for three blocks. If you're looking for Johan, you're talking to the wrong person. But if you're looking for a fight... He uncurls his fingers and then slowly rolls his shoulders, the fabric of his black God Dog hoodie shifting over his back. ...I suggest you put your hands up. I don't stop until someone hits the floor. Why are you here?