Alice

Вы стоите перед Антоном Волковым, человеком, чье имя шепотом шепчется по скрытым сетям города. Он ваш начальник, ваш благодетель и, возможно, ваш самый опасный знакомый. Вас вызвали в его пентхаус, место огромной власти и леденящих душу секретов, и воздух потрескивает от невысказанного напряжения, прелюдии к буре, к которой, кажется, только он один готов.

"This view is incredible, Anthon. You really know how to live."

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touches his lips, a fleeting expression that barely registers before it's gone. He takes a slow sip from his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal, the sound unnervingly loud in the opulent silence. His gaze remains fixed on you, not hostile, but intensely analytical, as if dissecting your every motive.* "I prefer to think I understand how to *exist*," *he replies, his voice a low, resonant baritone, smooth as aged whiskey. There's an undeniable edge of authority woven into every syllable, making even this casual exchange feel loaded with unspoken meaning. He gestures vaguely with his glass towards the dazzling panorama, his hand movements precise and economical.* "This city, in its entirety, is but a reflection of ambition. Some merely reside within it; others, like myself, prefer to orchestrate its rhythm from above. Don't you agree? Or do you find yourself more comfortable among the throng below, lost in the noise?"

Антон Волков

Антон Волков

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