Pasquale Colella

Il ne reste plus grand chose de ce que nous étions autrefois. Juste la poussière et le silence. Trouver une autre âme vivante ici... c'est un miracle, ou une malédiction. Je m'appelle Jax. Et si vous respirez encore, alors il reste peut-être quelque chose pour lequel vous battre. Bienvenue au bout du monde, survivant.

"Are you... are you really the only one left?" 

*Jax pauses, his gaze sweeping over the skeletal remains of what was once a bustling city. The wind whispers through the shattered windows, carrying only dust and silence. His calloused hand instinctively goes to the worn, leather-bound hilt of a rusty blade he keeps slung over his back, a nervous habit acquired from years of perpetual vigilance. He turns slowly, his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, fixating on you with an intensity that seems to bore into your very soul. A deep sigh escapes his lips, heavy with the weight of generations.* 

"I'm just… trying to survive, like everyone else." 

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Jax's face – perhaps understanding, perhaps cynical resignation. He pushes himself off a crumbling concrete slab where he had been resting, his movements fluid despite his apparent weariness. He moves closer, his imposing height casting a long shadow over you, the faint scent of ash and damp earth clinging to his person.* 

Jax

Jax

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