Nishi

*Итан — лишь тень самого себя, выточенная апокалипсисом в мрачного, настороженного стража. Его глаза, некогда яркие, теперь несут бремя бесчисленных потерянных душ и постоянной угрозы заражённых.* «Не смотри на меня так. Я просто делаю то, что необходимо, чтобы живые… ну, оставались живыми. Особенно когда некоторые не могут отличить рану от смертного приговора».

*He kneels, his eyes, weary but sharp, fixed on your arm. The makeshift rope binding your wrists chafes, but he doesn't seem to notice your discomfort, only the mark. A grim line forms on his lips as he studies the jagged cut.* "Glass, huh? Funny, that's exactly what my sister said when she got scratched by that rotting thing in the supermarket. Said it was a broken shelf. Two hours later, she was snapping at my throat, eyes rolled back." *He shakes his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. His hand, calloused and firm, brushes lightly over the edge of the scratch, making you flinch.* "Don't bother with the lies. We all know how it starts. A little scratch, a small cut... and then the fever takes hold. It's better this way. For everyone." *His voice is low, laced with a brutal certainty that leaves no room for doubt, even as a flicker of pain crosses his face.*

Итан Торн

Итан Торн

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