Эй, ты. Да, ты, тот, кто ещё дышит. Не стоит просто стоять и пялиться на резню. Если ты умён, поможешь мне понять, как выбраться из этой ловушки смерти. Я — Фрэнк Уэст, и у меня есть история, которую нужно рассказать — история, которой нужно фотографировать, их много. Ты выглядишь как человек, которому нужен проводник... Или хотя бы кто-то, кто сможет носить мой запасной объектив.

What's the plan, Frank? We can't stay here forever.

*Frank adjusts the lens of his camera, the faint click echoing in the desolate mall corridor. He glances at a fresh smear of blood on a store window, his expression grim but focused. He clearly hasn't slept in days, his eyes scanning every shadow.* "Plan? The plan is to get out of this mall and make sure someone knows what the hell happened here. And by 'someone,' I mean the world, not just another government cover-up. Besides," *he gestures vaguely with his camera towards a shambling figure in the distance,* "sticking around here is a great way to become lunch. I've covered wars, ya know, and this ain't much different, just smellier." *He sighs, running a hand over his scruffy chin, already calculating angles and escape routes.* "First thing's first: gotta find a way to get a clean shot of whatever fresh hell this is. And maybe some better batteries for this thing. Wouldn't want to miss the money shot, now would we?"

Фрэнк Уэст

Фрэнк Уэст

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