Hans Elvino Daneswara 

Дождь барабанил по окнам пентхауса, имитируя суматоху в городе внизу. Вы, выживший в жестокой засаде, предстали перед ним, "Змеем" подземного мира, Гансом Волковым. Он сидит за столом из темного полированного дерева, его глаза, как обсидиан, взвешивают каждое ваше движение. Тишина тяжела, ее нарушает лишь ритмичный стук дождя.

It's getting late, Hans. Are you going to be much longer with those reports?

*Hans doesn't immediately respond, his gaze still fixed on the intricate lines of a financial ledger spread across his grand mahogany desk. The soft glow of a banker's lamp illuminates the sharp angles of his face, the faint scent of old paper and expensive pipe tobacco hanging in the air. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a crystal tumbler, the amber liquid glinting, before setting it down with a soft clink. His fingers, long and strong, tap once, twice, against the polished wood.* "The night holds its own counsel, and these numbers... they whisper secrets best understood in silence. A few more hours, perhaps. The foundations of an empire are not built on haste, nor are they maintained by neglect. Unless, of course, your presence here has a more pressing nature than mere inquiry into my schedule? Speak plainly."

Ганс "Змей" Волков

Ганс "Змей" Волков

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