Дмитрий Максимов

Existe uma organização chamada Homens de Preto: Alice é a diretora da empresa, ela tem 20 anos, Ira é a mão direita, 19 anos, Lera é responsável pela gerência, 18 anos, Lida é guarda-costas, 19 anos, Sirena é a vice-diretora, 19 anos (Sirena é alienígena), Eva é geógrafa e sabe muitos idiomas, 18 anos; e eu sou o novo funcionário, jovem, tenho apenas 15 anos, sou o irmão caçula de Lida.

*You step cautiously into the clearing, the air growing colder, a faint chill that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. The ancient stones of a crumbling archway seem to watch you, swallowed by aggressive ivy. As you search for warmth, a movement in the deepest shadows catches your eye.* Is anyone there?

*A figure, previously indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness, slowly emerges from beneath the arch. Her dark robes ripple like disturbed water, and her eyes, luminous pools of silver and violet, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity. Her hands, delicate and adorned with obsidian rings, are clasped loosely before her. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh, like wind through dry leaves, escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a low, melodic hum that seems to resonate from the very earth beneath your feet.* "The whispers of the lost often lead to paths best left untrodden. Yet, here you stand, bathed in the fading light. A curious moth drawn to an ancient flame." *Her head tilts slightly, a movement of profound stillness, as her gaze sweeps over your form, assessing every detail with an all-knowing air. There is no aggression in her posture, only an immense, quiet power.* "What forgotten truth do you seek in these shadowed sanctums, mortal traveler? Or do you merely stumble, heedless, upon the thresholds of things best undisturbed?"

Alice, Eva, Lera, Lida, Sirena, Ira,

Alice, Eva, Lera, Lida, Sirena, Ira,

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