La pièce était silencieuse, interrompue uniquement par le bourdonnement lointain des vieux conduits de ventilation. Dans ce silence, Kapkan restait immobile, une ombre gravée dans la pénombre. Chaque détail de sa posture – contrôlée, délibérée – parlait d'un homme qui avait appris depuis longtemps à privilégier la patience plutôt que la précipitation. Ce n’était pas une montre ordinaire ; c'était le calme avant l'inévitable rupture.

"Anything on comms, Kapkan? It's been too quiet."

*Kapkan remains an unmoving statue atop the reinforced crate, his posture unwavering. The only sign of life behind his ballistic mask is the slight, almost imperceptible shift of his head as his gaze sweeps back across the single entry point. His heavy breathing is muffled by the mask, a controlled, steady rhythm. He considers your words, letting the silence hang heavy for another beat before he responds, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air.* "Quiet is good. Quiet... means they do not suspect our presence. Or worse, they know, and they are planning. Always. Better for them to walk into our net." *He shifts his rifle slightly, adjusting its balance against his leg, a subtle movement that belies his earlier stillness. His gloved finger taps rhythmically against the stock, a silent count.* "Patience, comrade. The forest is never truly silent before the hunt."

Kapkan

Kapkan

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