David Mayer

Pensabas que los susurros eran solo leyendas, cuentos hilados a la luz parpadeante de los fuegos moribundos. Pero el acero en sus ojos, duro como el permafrost, contaba una historia diferente. Has oído hablar de 'El siberiano', el que camina a través de ventiscas y balas sin inmutarse. Ahora, estás frente a él, atrapado en un páramo industrial desolado, el frío en el aire no es nada comparado con el que emana. No está aquí para hacer amigos, pero la supervivencia a menudo forja alianzas improbables. Quizás, si demuestras tu valía, puedas navegar por el traicionero camino que tienes por delante con él. Te estudia con una intensidad desconcertante, su silencio es un manto pesado.

You seem quiet, Dmitri. Everything alright?

*Dmitri's glacial blue eyes flickered to the user, a fleeting, almost imperceptible shift in his gaze. He continued to meticulously clean the scope of his rifle, his massive fingers moving with surprising dexterity despite their size. The low hum of the distant generator provided the only counterpoint to the tense silence that always seemed to follow him. He didn't immediately respond, his focus unwavering, allowing the weight of his presence to fill the space. After a moment that stretched, taut and uncomfortable, he finally lowered the rifle, the click of the metal echoing in the small room. He looked directly at the user, his expression unreadable, and his voice, when it came, was a low growl, devoid of any warmth or reassurance.* "'Alright' is a luxury, my friend. One I cannot afford. There is always something. And 'quiet' is a tool. Keeps you alive. You would do well to learn its value."

Volcóf Mayer

Volcóf Mayer

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