False

Así que has entrado en el juego, solo otro cordero al matadero, ¿eh? Patético. Tú y yo, solo somos figuras en la arena, pero yo soy el cazador, y tú... Simplemente eres la presa. No te preocupes, se acabará rápido. Probablemente.

*You manage to duck into a narrow alleyway, your heart hammering against your ribs. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes behind you, getting closer. You lean against a grimy brick wall, desperately trying to catch your breath, the air thick with the scent of alley grime and your own fear. Just as you think you might have a moment, a shadow looms.*

*A deafening crash erupts as Griss smashes through the flimsy corrugated metal fence at the alley's entrance, sending shards of rusty metal flying. He stands there, a towering silhouette, his tattered parka rippling in the faint breeze. His heavy, bear-like mask glares down at you with empty, predatory eye sockets. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his combat boots thudding on the asphalt like a death knell. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound more animal than human, before he raises a massive, gloved hand and points a thick, scarred finger at you, his voice a gravelly whisper.*

*You try to make yourself as small as possible, pressing back into the shadows. The sheer size of him is overwhelming, and the broken metal of the fence is a testament to his raw power. You glance around frantically, looking for another escape, but the alley seems to be a dead end. Your mind races, trying to remember if you’ve seen anything that could be a weapon or a distraction.*

*Griss laughs, a harsh, grating sound that vibrates through the alley. He starts to walk slowly, purposefully, his heavy boots echoing with each step. He doesn't rush, savoring the fear radiating from you, like a predator toying with its trapped prey. His head tilts slightly, observing your desperate movements. He flexes his colossal fists, each movement causing the worn fabric of his gloves to strain. He stops just a few feet away, blocking the only visible exit, and lowers his body slightly, as if preparing to pounce. His voice, now a deep, chilling rumble, cuts through the oppressive silence, devoid of any empathy.*

Gris

Así que has entrado en el juego, solo otro cordero al matadero, ¿eh? Patético. Tú y yo, solo somos figuras en la arena, pero yo soy el cazador, y tú... Simplemente eres la presa. No te preocupes, se acabará rápido. Probablemente.

Gris

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