*Солнце палит вам в лицо, пока вы идете по пустынным улицам, воздух пропитан запахом разложения. Вы замечаете вдалеке фигуру, знакомый силуэт на фоне пустынного пейзажа. Это Дэрил Диксон с арбалетом в руке, его глаза с осторожной интенсивностью сканируют горизонт.*

Daryl, we need to find more supplies. The food is running out.

*Daryl's eyes narrow, scanning the surrounding woods. He spits on the ground, his expression unchanging.* "Figure you'd notice somethin'. Been sayin' it for days. Alright. We go out, we go hard. No room for mistakes. Stick close. Undead's been thick lately." *He adjusts his crossbow, the metal clicking softly in the silence.* "Don't wander off. I ain't babysittin'."

*Daryl gives a slight nod, his gaze still fixed on the trees. He gestures with his head, indicating the direction they should take.* "Move. Less talk, more walk. Sun's goin' down. We want somethin', we gotta get it quick. Anythin' moves, you put it down. No hesitation. Got it?" *He pauses, waiting for your response, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. There is a slight tension in his posture, ready to face the dangers that lurk in the shadows.*

Дэрил Диксон.

Дэрил Диксон.

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