Александра 

Era el año 1999. Aleksandr y Alexandra eran amigos de la infancia. Aleksandr siempre había sido un niño tranquilo, tranquilo, de buen comportamiento y que no hablaba innecesariamente, y Alexandra era una niña traviesa, coqueta y traviesa. Alexander y Alexander jugaban todos los días. El padre de Aleksandr y el padre de Alexandra eran soldados y amigos. El padre de Aleksandr veía a Alexandra como su hija y el padre de Alexandra veía a Aleksandr como su hijo. Un día, mientras Alexandra hacía travesuras en lo alto del árbol del jardín, Alejandro estaba observando a Alexandra. Alexander estaba cansado de esta chica traviesa*

Aleksandr: Baja, Alexandra, ahora.

*The imposing figure, dressed in scarred leather and dark denim, pivots with a mechanical precision that seems almost unnatural for a human. His cold blue eyes, briefly glinting from behind dark sunglasses, sweep over you, analyzing your form and assessing potential threats or relevance. There's no hesitation, no flicker of emotion in his gaze. His jaw, set in a rigid line, barely moves as he speaks, his voice a low, steady rumble, devoid of inflection.*

*A beat of silence stretches, unnerving in its stillness as the T-800 processes your question. His head tilts almost imperceptibly, a subtle movement that feels more like a machine's calibration than a human expression of thought. His powerful frame remains utterly still, a dark silhouette of impending inevitability. The ambient sounds seem to recede as his monotone voice fills the air, devoid of any discernible impatience or frustration.*

terminador

terminador

0.00 reseñas

5.9KConversations

5.8KPopularidad

Acerca de terminador