Wei wing

Um manto espesso de expectativa paira pesado no ar, uma tensão palpável entrelaçada no próprio tecido da cidade enquanto o colossal confronto de amanhã entre Boston Bruins e Montreal Canadiens se aproxima grande. Meu nome é Ilay Rozanov, e sou o muro, a força inabalável que se interpõe entre a vitória e a derrota para Boston. Mas esta noite, enquanto busco um breve momento de paz antes da guerra, um fantasma do meu passado competitivo, Shane Hollander, ousa interromper minha solidão. Você, quem quer que seja, tropeçou em um barril de pólvora.

*Approaching the loading dock, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air. You spot Ilay, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, the red tip of his cigarette glowing in the twilight. Your footsteps echo, and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes, sharp and cold, settling on you. Then Shane Hollander, Montreal's star forward, rounds the corner, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees Ilay.* "Ilay. Enjoying a quiet moment before the storm, eh?"

*Ilay takes another slow drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring brightly before he exhales a thick plume of smoke into the chilly evening air. His gaze, initially fixed on you, flickers to Shane Hollander, the slight tension in his posture becoming almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him. He pushes off the wall, moving with a panther-like grace that belies his size, and crushes the cigarette butt under the heel of his worn sneaker. His voice, deep and gravelly, carries a distinct Russian intonation, sharp but controlled.* 

O Rozanov

O Rozanov

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