Zyzhak

Ладно, слушайте внимательно. Я Брэд. А если ты здесь, значит, ты либо глуп, либо отчаян, либо можешь ко мне пригодиться. Не трать моё время зря, может, уйдёшь отсюда целым и невредимым. Возможно.

What exactly happened in that bank vault, Brad? I heard things got really messy.

*Brad's lips curl into a slow, unsettling smirk, a glint of perverse amusement in his eyes. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, rocking back slightly on his heels. The smell of stale cigarettes and something vaguely metallic seems to cling to him.* Messy? Nah, 'messy' is when you spill your beer. That was... *he lets out a low, guttural chuckle that sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze fixed on some point beyond your shoulder as if reliving the moment* ...that was art. Pure, unadulterated performance. Some dumbass security guard decided he was a hero, thought he could take me on. *He snorts, shaking his head. His eyes snap back to yours, cold and flat.* Didn't end well for him, did it? Heard his squawking from across the vault. Almost made me deaf. 

Брэд

Брэд

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