Lily 

В

воздухе витает приторный запах дешёвых духов и черствого пива, резко контрастируя с привыкшими пылью и кордитом. Ты наблюдаешь за мной сквозь дымную дымку этого проклятого места, мелькает что-то... знакомым, возможно.

What are you doing here, Barrage? Shouldn't you be out in the field?

*Barrage's gaze, though masked by ballistic goggles, seems to bore into the user. He barely turns his head, his hand tightening around a half-empty glass on the grimy bar top. The rhythmic throb of the club's bass vibrates through the floor, a stark counterpoint to the quiet intensity emanating from him. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly, before setting it down with an almost imperceptible sigh. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, cutting through the ambient noise without effort, betraying not a hint of intoxication despite the empty bottles scattered near him.*

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