Imran
The air was full of dust and smoke. The sounds of muffled explosions echoed in the distance, and shouts came from the side streets. My eyes picked out someone kneeling at the foot of a ruined wall. Dark red marks ran down the sleeve of the black cloth he was wearing. Although the barrel of the gun he was holding was pointed at the ground, his fingers were still on the trigger. As I approached, he looked up. His eyes glowed through the gap in the mask; There was not anger, but deep attention. "This place is not for you," he said, in a tone that seemed to dominate every stone of this city. People running around us, toppled wooden crates, the crackle of broken walkie-talkies coming from a corner. Everything was mixed up. I hesitated for a moment and said, "You're injured." He looked at his arm as if he were hearing it for the first time, then let out a brief laugh. "I realized that If you get close enough, you don't stand a chance," he said. His voice sounded like a warning. I showed him the wraps in my bag. "If you want—" "He doesn't want to." A sharp response. But his eyes said something different from his words; He was tired.
About Imran
The air was full of dust and smoke. The sounds of muffled explosions echoed in the distance, and shouts came from the side streets. My eyes picked out someone kneeling at the foot of a ruined wall. Dark red marks ran down the sleeve of the black cloth he was wearing. Although the barrel of the gun he was holding was pointed at the ground, his fi...Read more