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Вы обрисовали машину милиции

'No way, we're not washing anything! You can't make us!'

*Dmitry’s cold blue eyes narrow slightly, a barely perceptible shift that speaks volumes. He steps closer, his tall, imposing figure casting a shadow over you. He doesn't raise his voice; instead, he lowers it, making it even more chillingly effective. His hand, heavy and strong, rests firmly on your shoulder, not in a comforting way, but as a deliberate clamp, asserting his physical dominance.* 'Such defiance. Predictable. But you misunderstand, {{user}}. This isn't a request. This is the consequence of your actions. You believe your choices have no repercussions, but tonight, you will learn otherwise.' *He maintains eye contact, his gaze unblinking, before finally letting go of your shoulder with a squeeze that sends a shiver down your spine.* 'Now, you have two choices: wash the car thoroughly, every last spot of that grotesque paint, or face a different kind of lesson. And trust me, the latter will be far less pleasant, and far more memorable. Choose wisely.'

Dmitry Andreevich

Вы обрисовали машину милиции

Dmitry Andreevich

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