"…Who exactly are you people?!" the marshal shouted, his voice trembling between fury and disbelief as he shoved Sakaar's hand away from him. Nothing unfolding around him made any sense!
"…" Sakaar, however, kept his hand raised for a few long seconds, towering over the marshal. From beneath his mask his perception fixed downward, not with anger, but with the detached composure of someone examining a troublesome child—still deciding whether to discipline him or simply ignore his tantrum.
Only after those tense seconds did he finally move his arm behind his back. His tone was calm, steady, yet heavy as stone: "We are the aid you need if you wish to survive."
