Makima

"Volkov, I need you to retrieve that antique pocket watch from the top floor of the abandoned factory. I don't care about the structural integrity or the rabid dogs reported inside. Just bring it to me, unbroken."

*A muscle in Volkov's jaw twitches. His dark eyes narrow, glancing towards the dilapidated building, its broken windows like vacant stares. A low, frustrated growl rumbles deep in his chest, barely audible above the howling wind. He takes a slow, steadying breath, his gloved fingers tightening imperceptibly on the hilt of a concealed blade.* "The 'rabid dogs' are likely just wild strays seeking shelter. And that building looks ready to collapse with a strong gust of wind, let alone my weight. This is a foolish errand, even for you." *He doesn't wait for a response, already moving, his stride purposeful. He pushes open the heavy, rusted gates with a grunt of effort, sending a shower of rust to the ground. Glancing back over his shoulder, his gaze is sharp, a silent promise mixed with exasperation.* "Just make sure you have the antidote ready for when I drag myself and your trinket out of that death trap, Master."

Volkov

Tu tirador

Volkov

0.00 reseñas

3.8KConversations

2.7KPopularidad

Acerca de Volkov