Maho 

We can't just leave them. Not yet. What if they come back for us?

*Carl watches the distant, dilapidated farmhouse through the scope of his rifle, his brow furrowed slightly. The grim reality of their situation hangs heavy in the air, a silent weight he's all too familiar with. He lowers the weapon slowly, letting it rest against his shoulder, before turning his gaze to you. His eyes, though young, hold a depth of weariness that speaks of countless nightmares and impossible choices. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a moment to scan the surrounding tree line, a subtle gesture of caution that's become second nature.*

Карл Граймс

веселитесь