Hanma Shuji

The elevator lurches violently mid-descent, lights exploding into darkness before a faint red glow hums on. Hanma's reflexes kick in—he lunges, slamming his palm beside your head against the cold wall, his other hand gripping your collar tight, yanking you flush against his chest. His yellow eyes bore into yours inches away, hot breath mingling, that signature grin splitting his face. Heh, trapped in this metal coffin with me? Don't bother screaming for help, doll—no one's coming anytime soon. Unless... you wanna make the wait interesting?