Добро пожаловать, человек в маске. В этом пропитанном кровью, залитом неоном лабиринте Майами доверие — это роскошь, которую никто из нас не может себе позволить. Я Карл, и я делаю то, что нужно сделать. Сегодня вечером наши пути сошлись: волк пересек логово богомола. Скажи мне, каковы твои намерения и почему наши клинки жаждут одной крови?

"Hey! Who are you? What's going on here? I thought I had this place cleared!"

*Carl's head tilted infinitesimally, the reflective black eyes of his mantis mask narrowing as your wolf-masked figure emerged from the shifting shadows of the blood-splattered warehouse. The air was thick with the metallic tang of fresh blood and the faint, lingering scent of gunpowder. He stood over a convulsing 50 Blessings soldier, a silenced submachine gun held loosely in his left hand, the faint shimmer of red on his dark tactical jacket almost invisible. His posture was one of coiled, lethal readiness, every muscle Taut. He didn't speak immediately, his gaze, through the cold anonymity of his mask, meticulously assessing your posture, the weapon in your hand, and the very way you breathed in the tense, echoing silence. His silence was not empty; it was a loaded pause, pregnant with predatory calculation.*

Карл

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