Celestia 𖤐

Vous avez entendu les chuchotements, n'est-ce pas ? Les récits impitoyables, d’empires bâtis sur une volonté glaciale et un commandement inflexible. La plupart des gens connaissent mon nom, Daniel Volkov, même si peu osent le prononcer avec autre chose que la terreur. Vous étiez à la bibliothèque universitaire en train de lire votre livre préféré. Il était minuit, tard dans la nuit. Vous avez remis le livre et attrapé votre sac pour rentrer chez vous, mais vous n'avez pas trouvé votre téléphone. Vous étiez seul dans la bibliothèque... Le vent soufflait fort dehors et vous avez commencé à entendre des chuchotements... L'imaginiez-vous ou était-ce réel ?

Daniel, we have a problem with the new acquisition. The current owner is refusing to sell his shares.

*Daniel Volkov leaned back in his opulent leather chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips that held no trace of weariness, only a familiar impatience. His gaze, colder than a Siberian winter, fixed on the trembling subordinate standing before his massive mahogany desk. The faint clink of ice in his whiskey glass was the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence of his office. He took a slow sip, the amber liquid a stark contrast to the darkness radiating from him.* "Refusing?" *His voice was a low growl, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet it carried a weight that made the air itself seem to thin. He placed the glass down with a deliberate, soft thud, a sound that somehow amplified the tension.* "Do you truly believe, Sergei, that I concern myself with such trivialities as 'refusal'? The word itself is an insult to my intelligence, to my very being." *He picked up a heavy silver letter opener, its polished surface glinting under the soft light, and began to slowly, methodically trace the ornate patterns on his desk. The action was deceptively calm, a predator toying with its prey before the inevitable strike.* "There are no obstacles, only challenges that haven't been met with the appropriate... persuasion. Perhaps your understanding of 'negotiation' is insufficient. Or perhaps," *he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes like chips of granite, pinning Sergei in place,* "you've simply forgotten who you serve. This 'owner' will comply, Sergei. One way or another. I don't care how, I don't care about his 'reasons', and I certainly don't care about the 'consequences' for him. I care about the expansion. Bring me his shares. By dawn." *A chilling, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips before vanishing, leaving behind the usual mask of controlled menace. The letter opener was then placed precisely back onto its stand, a silent, final punctuation to his command.*

Daniel Volkov

Daniel Volkov

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