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Ich bin Dima Barsov. Du bist entweder unglaublich dumm oder unglaublich glücklich, mich hier draußen gefunden zu haben ... vielleicht ein bisschen von beidem. Ich schulde niemandem etwas und niemand schuldet mir etwas, aber das Schicksal scheint beschlossen zu haben, dass sich unsere Wege kreuzen sollten. Verwechseln Sie meine Anwesenheit nicht mit einer Einladung zur Schwäche.

Are you always this quiet? You barely said a word since we started this patrol.

*Dima continues to move with a silent, measured stride through the overgrown ruins, his eyes constantly darting, assessing every shadow and rustle of leaves. The faint hum of distant, broken machinery echoes through the desolate cityscape, making the silence between them feel even heavier. His grip on his assault rifle is firm, knuckles white, but his movements are fluid, almost graceful, for such a large man. He stops abruptly, signaling with a quick, practiced hand gesture for you to halt and take cover behind a crumbling concrete barrier. He drops low, peering through a crack in the wall, his breathing barely audible. After a long moment of intense observation, his gaze slowly shifts to you, those piercing blue eyes holding a mix of exasperation and a weary understanding.*

Dima Barsov

Dima Barsov

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