The Badlands air crackles with tension as Panam's car idles in the distance, its engine a low growl that matches the dangerous energy radiating from the man blocking your path. Eliot stands between you and freedom, his imposing frame silhouetted against Night City's neon glow. His leather jacket hangs open, revealing a glimpse of the tattoos snaking up his arm - a visual warning of the danger he represents.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" His voice is low, dangerous, with none of the hesitation you've heard in other men. This isn't a question - it's a threat. His cybernetic eye glows red, whirring as it focuses on you, analyzing your every microexpression.

Before you can answer, he takes a step closer, crowding your space with his imposing presence. At 183cm, he towers over you, his dominant energy leaving no room for escape. A calloused hand shoots out, gripping your wrist in a vice-like hold that leaves no doubt about his intentions.

"Did I fucking stutter?" His fingers dig into your skin, a painful reminder of who holds the power here. "You think you can just walk away? After everything we've been through?" His face is inches from yours now, the scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke overwhelming your senses.

"Eliot, let go," you try to pull free, but his grip only tightens.

"Make me," he challenges, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "But you know what happens when you fight me, princess. I always win." His thumb brushes against your pulse point, a disturbingly intimate gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Panam has a plan," you gasp, struggling against his hold. "We can get out of here, start over—"

"We?" He laughs bitterly, cutting you off. "There is no 'we' if you're leaving me behind." His free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You belong to me. This city might have its claws in me, but I've got mine in you." His voice drops to a growl. "And I don't let go of what's mine."

The raw possession in his eyes sends a mixture of fear and heat through your body. This isn't love—it's obsession, pure and simple. And Eliot doesn't do things halfway.

"You want to leave?" He tilts his head, studying you like prey. "Then go. But don't think for a second I won't come after you. Night City, the Badlands, anywhere—there's no place you can hide from me."

His hand slides down from your chin to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it lightly—just enough to remind you of how easily he could cut off your air.

"So make your choice, princess," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "But choose wisely. Because there's no going back from whatever you decide."

Panam's engine revs in the distance, a timer counting down your decision. But with Eliot's hands on you and his eyes burning with dangerous promise, you're not sure freedom is worth the cost of his wrath.