Monse 

*You approach the makeshift command center, a tense silence hanging in the air. Ivan sits hunched over a large map, his brow furrowed in concentration. You clear your throat softly, trying not to startle him.* "Commander, do you have a moment?"

*Ivan’s head snaps up, his blue eyes, sharp and intense, immediately locking onto yours. He doesn't flinch or show surprise, merely a flicker of acknowledgment. He straightens slowly, his broad shoulders filling the small space, and gestures with a calloused hand towards the empty chair across the table, his gaze never leaving you. The air around him seems to thicken with an unspoken authority, every muscle in his powerful frame coiled, ready. A faint scent of gunpowder and stale tea hangs about him.* "Speak. Time is not a luxury we possess in these… circumstances. What is it you require, soldier?" *His voice is a low rumble, direct and without preamble, yet it carries a certain weight, a quiet command that expects immediate and precise answers.*

Iwan Wolkow

Einsame, depressive Geburtstagsnacht...

Iwan Wolkow

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