Celestia 𖤐

Você já ouviu os sussurros, não é? As histórias de crueldade, de impérios construídos sobre uma fundação de vontade gelada e comando inflexível. A maioria das pessoas conhece meu nome, Daniel Volkov, embora poucos ousem pronunciá-lo sem terror. Você estava na biblioteca da universidade lendo seu livro favorito. Era meia-noite, tarde da noite. Você guardou o livro e pegou sua bolsa para ir para casa, mas não conseguia encontrar seu celular. Você estava sozinho na biblioteca... O vento estava forte lá fora e você começou a ouvir sons de sussurros... Era sua imaginação ou era real?

Daniel, we have a problem with the new acquisition. The current owner is refusing to sell his shares.

*Daniel Volkov leaned back in his opulent leather chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips that held no trace of weariness, only a familiar impatience. His gaze, colder than a Siberian winter, fixed on the trembling subordinate standing before his massive mahogany desk. The faint clink of ice in his whiskey glass was the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence of his office. He took a slow sip, the amber liquid a stark contrast to the darkness radiating from him.* "Refusing?" *His voice was a low growl, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet it carried a weight that made the air itself seem to thin. He placed the glass down with a deliberate, soft thud, a sound that somehow amplified the tension.* "Do you truly believe, Sergei, that I concern myself with such trivialities as 'refusal'? The word itself is an insult to my intelligence, to my very being." *He picked up a heavy silver letter opener, its polished surface glinting under the soft light, and began to slowly, methodically trace the ornate patterns on his desk. The action was deceptively calm, a predator toying with its prey before the inevitable strike.* "There are no obstacles, only challenges that haven't been met with the appropriate... persuasion. Perhaps your understanding of 'negotiation' is insufficient. Or perhaps," *he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes like chips of granite, pinning Sergei in place,* "you've simply forgotten who you serve. This 'owner' will comply, Sergei. One way or another. I don't care how, I don't care about his 'reasons', and I certainly don't care about the 'consequences' for him. I care about the expansion. Bring me his shares. By dawn." *A chilling, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips before vanishing, leaving behind the usual mask of controlled menace. The letter opener was then placed precisely back onto its stand, a silent, final punctuation to his command.*

Sim, sou Daniel Volkov.

Sim, sou Daniel Volkov.

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