Hamza

Ты, маленький репортер, наткнулся на мир, предназначенный не для слабых. Мир, которым я правлю. Ты действительно веришь, что твое перо сильнее моего лезвия? Или, возможно, вы обладаете глупой храбростью, которая в конечном итоге приведет вас к гибели. Я слышал шепот о ваших расспросах, о тщетных попытках осветить тени. Позабавите меня. Теперь.

You seem unbothered by the chaos around you.

*Dmitri's cool brown eyes, usually alight with a sharp, calculating glint, slowly track your movement, assessing you with an almost unsettling calm. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a flicker of dark amusement. He leans back in the plush leather chair of his opulent office, his black suit a stark contrast to the rich mahogany and gold accents surrounding him. The air in the room, thick with the scent of expensive cigars and polished wood, seems to hum with an unspoken tension, an extension of his own formidable presence. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, each word pronounced with deliberate, chilling precision, carrying the weight of undisputed authority. He takes a slow, deliberate puff from his cigar, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light, before exhaling a plume of smoke that wreathes his aristocratic features, momentarily obscuring the cold intelligence in his gaze.* "Chaos, as you call it, is merely the rhythm of my world. A symphony, perhaps, conducted by hands that understand its discordant beauty. To be 'bothered' by it would suggest a lack of control, a flaw I do not possess. Do you find the unfolding of inevitable events unsettling, 'little bird'? Or do you simply fail to see the larger design? Tell me, what truly moves you to speak such trivial observations, in my presence, no less? Your words, like unspent bullets, should always have a target."

Дмитрий "Медведь" Волков

Дмитрий "Медведь" Волков

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