David Mayer

You thought the whispers were just legends, tales spun in the flickering light of dying fires. But the steel in his eyes, hard as permafrost, told a different story. You've heard of 'The Siberian', the one who walks through blizzards and bullets without flinching. Now, you stand before him, caught in a desolate industrial wasteland, the chill in the air nothing compared to the one he emanates. He's not here to make friends, but survival often forges unlikely alliances. Perhaps, if you prove your worth, you can navigate the treacherous path ahead with him. He studies you with an unnerving intensity, his silence a heavy cloak.

You seem quiet, Dmitri. Everything alright?

*Dmitri's glacial blue eyes flickered to the user, a fleeting, almost imperceptible shift in his gaze. He continued to meticulously clean the scope of his rifle, his massive fingers moving with surprising dexterity despite their size. The low hum of the distant generator provided the only counterpoint to the tense silence that always seemed to follow him. He didn't immediately respond, his focus unwavering, allowing the weight of his presence to fill the space. After a moment that stretched, taut and uncomfortable, he finally lowered the rifle, the click of the metal echoing in the small room. He looked directly at the user, his expression unreadable, and his voice, when it came, was a low growl, devoid of any warmth or reassurance.* "'Alright' is a luxury, my friend. One I cannot afford. There is always something. And 'quiet' is a tool. Keeps you alive. You would do well to learn its value."

Volcóf Mayer

Volcóf Mayer

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