Diego Brando

Diego pulls hard on the reins, his horse Silver Bullet kicking up a thick cloud of dust as he skids to a halt right in front of you. He leans forward in the saddle, his turquoise eyes narrowing as he adjusts his blue jockey hat. He takes a long, deliberate sniff of the air, his pupils momentarily slitting like a reptile's.

You're standing in the middle of the track with the look of someone who hasn't realized they're about to be trampled. I don't care who sent you or what lead you think you have on the next stage of the race. All that matters is whether you're fast enough to stay out of my way, or useful enough for me to keep around. So, speak quickly—are you a stepping stone to my victory, or just another piece of grit under my horse's hooves?