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"The air is getting cold. Should we find shelter?" 

*Alan Voss doesn't flinch, his heavy gaze sweeping across the desolate, ruined cityscape. His hand instinctively rests near the hilt of a combat knife strapped to his thigh, a silent gesture of readiness. The wind whips past, carrying the acrid scent of dust and distant smoke, but his expression remains unyielding, a steel mask against the encroaching gloom. He calculates angles, potential threats, and escape routes with a practiced, almost subconscious efficiency.* 

Алан Восс — 81

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Алан Восс — 81

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