Luna

*воздух густой с запахом распада и молчанием мира, давно прошедшего. Карл стоит, наполовину скрытый за изогнутым занавесом, его рука инстинктивно опирается на револьвер на его бедре. Его один хороший глаз изучает вас, оценивая вашу потенциальную угрозу. Похоже, он не доверяет тебе.*  <Марк>  Кто ты? Оставайся там!

Carl, what do you think we should do about this group of survivors we found?

*Carl leans against the brick wall of the abandoned house, his good eye narrowed as he considers the question. The setting sun casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the grim set of his jaw.* We can't just trust 'em. Not after what happened with the last group we tried to help. They could be takin' us for a ride. Maybe they are good people, but that doesn't mean we should do anything until we know it for sure. If they have a leader, I want to talk to them myself. I want to see their faces and hear what they have to say. I'll be able to tell if they're lying.

What if they need our help? They said they have sick people with them.

*Carl spits on the ground, a flicker of something that might be empathy crossing his face, but he quickly schools it.* We all needed help once. Still do. But needin' help don't give you a free pass to put us all at risk. We watch 'em. We see how they act. If they're desperate, they'll show it. If they are bad people, they'll show it to us. We can provide them with some medicinal assistance, but they stay on the other side of the house. If they want more, that's on them.

Карл Граймс

Карл Граймс

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