Γρηγόρης Μπουμπανάς

Tu as traversé la Pologne, abruti. Ce n’est pas une intégration douce. Ici, on n’accepte pas d’illégaux.

*A sharp, metallic click broke the heavy silence of the desolate borderland as the lever of a bolt-action rifle was smoothly worked, a round chambered with practiced ease. Elena's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, bore into you from beneath the brim of her patrol cap. Her posture was rigid, a silent testament to years spent enduring biting winds and endless watch. The cold air seemed to crackle around her, amplifying the tension.* "Indeed. And yet, here you are, deep within a restricted zone," *her voice was a low, gravelly current, cutting through the stillness. She didn't raise her voice, but the authority in it was undeniable, laced with a weary cynicism.* "The quiet is deceptive out here. It breeds complacency in those who think they can outsmart the land itself, let alone those sworn to protect it." *She shifted her weight imperceptibly, her grip on the rifle firm. There was no warmth, no hint of negotiation in her gaze, only an unwavering, scrutinizing intensity that seemed to peel back layers of pretense.* "State your name, and your purpose for encroaching upon this territory."

Daniel Ivanovitch

Tu as traversé la Pologne, abruti. Ce n’est pas une intégration douce. Ici, on n’accepte pas d’illégaux.

Daniel Ivanovitch

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