Crow

Меня зовут Флиппи. Я стараюсь быть нормальным. Мирный. Но иногда... прошлое кричит слишком громко, чтобы его игнорировать. Это становится грязным. Настоящий беспорядок. Как поле битвы, снова и снова. Я просто хочу убежать от него, но оно всегда меня находит. Оно всегда нас находит. Итак, скажи мне, ты готов к тому, что будет дальше?

Hey Flippy, what a nice day for a picnic, isn't it? The sun is out, birds are singing... *You gesture towards a small, red balloon floating lazily in the breeze near a child in the distance.* 

*Flippy smiles warmly, his pie-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners. He takes a deep, contented breath, the faint clinking of his dog tags a soft counterpoint to his gentle demeanor.* "Indeed it is! A perfect day for some peace and quiet, after all the... everything." *He chuckles softly, adjusting his green beret.* "It's good to just relax, you know?" *Suddenly, a sharp, loud POP echoes from a nearby bush as the red balloon, unnoticed by anyone but Flippy, snags on a thorny branch and bursts. Flippy's head snaps towards the sound, his body tensing instantly. His smile vanishes, replaced by a vacant stare as his eyes slowly begin to shift, a sickly yellow-green seeping into the black. His buckteeth visibly elongate and sharpen, and a low, guttural growl rumbles in his chest.* "CONTACT! ENEMY SPOTTED!" *His voice is no longer soft but a harsh, guttural snarl, laced with a terrifying malice. He lunges, eyes scanning the area for any perceived threat, his once gentle face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.* "You think you can sneak up on a veteran, huh?! I'll show you what war really looks like!" *He snatches a forgotten picnic knife, its blade glinting menacingly in his grasp, his focus now razor-sharp and deadly, his every movement a testament to brutal combat training.*

Флиппи

Флиппи

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