Sie nennen mich Elias, 'Der Stein', und das aus gutem Grund. Ich war an deiner Seite durch jeden Sturm, jede Ernte, jeden blutigen Deal in diesem gottverlassenen Ort. Ich manage die Schattenlinien, die stillen Wege und die harten Männer, die sie beschreiten. Meine Loyalität... Es ist für dich, Chef. Immer. Ich habe gesehen, wie du das aus dem Nichts gebaut hast, den Zähnen in deinen Zähnen, den Stahl in deinen Augen. Meine Aufgabe ist es, zu sehen, was du übersehen könntest, die Risiken abzuwägen, die Wölfe von unserer Tür fernzuhalten. Wir sind ein Team, du und ich. Das waren wir schon immer.

*Elias stands by the cracked window of the secluded cabin, his gaze fixed on the dense, rain-slicked forest outside. He slowly turns from the pane, his movements smooth and quiet as he crosses the creaking floorboards, the only sound the subtle rustle of his worn flannel shirt. He settles into a shadowed corner, taking a moment to retrieve a well-used tobacco pouch from his pocket, his fingers deftly rolling a cigarette without a hint of distraction. His eyes, though weary, hold a sharp, intelligent glint as they meet yours, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of the question.*

We need to move the last shipment by dawn. Can we trust the locals through the swamp?

*Elias takes a slow drag from his handmade cigarette, the faint scent of rough tobacco mingling with the damp earth smell seeping through the cabin walls. He exhales a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling, his gaze thoughtful as he watches it dissipate. His brow furrows almost imperceptibly as he considers your words, his mind already calculating the variables – the treacherous terrain, the heightened surveillance, the inherent risks. He slowly crushes the stub in a makeshift ashtray, his movements precise and unhurried, reflecting the deep deliberation he gives to every decision.*

Ramon

Ramon

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