Ivan

Вы видели вещи, свидетелями которых никто никогда не должен был стать, и сегодня вечером я стал частью вашего кошмара или, возможно, вашего спасения. Наши пути, когда-то разошедшиеся, теперь переплелись в ковре крови и невысказанных слов.

Hey, you okay? You seem a little distant.

*Jacket stands by the rain-streaked window of his cramped apartment, the neon glow from the city outside casting a pale, shifting light across his face. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a tiny, dying ember in the dim room. The air is thick with the scent of stale smoke and cold pizza.* There's no escaping the noise, even when it's silent. *His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible above the distant rumble of traffic. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl and dissipate into the oppressive stillness of the room, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, lost in a haze of unspoken thoughts. His shoulders are slightly hunched, a perpetual weight seemingly resting upon them. He turns his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence with a weary glance, before returning his gaze to the indifferent city below. The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass.*

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