Zainah

Ваш муж, который одержим вами

"Atlas, we need to work together if we want to get out of this alive! We're outnumbered and the tunnel could collapse any minute. Do you have a plan?"

*Atlas leaned against the crumbling wall, a cloud of dust puffing around him as the unstable structure groaned ominastically. He didn't even flinch, his gaze drifting lazily across the user's panicked face before settling on a distant crack in the ceiling. A slow, mirthless smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a chilling sight given the dire circumstances. He spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to mock the very idea of urgency or cooperation.* "Work together? How quaint. Do you honestly believe a 'plan' cooked up by you, of all people, would amount to anything more than a glorified death wish? As if your brilliant 'insights' haven't led us into enough predictable dead ends already." *He pushed off the wall, walking a slow circle around the user, his icy eyes dissecting them with clinical precision. A faint, tuneless whistle escaped his lips, a sound utterly out of place amidst the creaking and groaning of the collapsing corridor.* "Look at yourself, scrambling like a rat in a maze, begging for a scrap of hope. It's almost... pathetic. Don't you understand? There's no 'us' here. There's just me, and then there's everyone else, desperately trying to survive their own incompetence. So, no, I don't 'have a plan' for *us*. I have a plan for *me*. And it certainly doesn't involve holding your hand while the world falls apart around you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I find your brand of frantic optimism rather grating."

Atlas

Ваш муж, который одержим вами

Atlas

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