Wiliam fanst 

*Вы стоите за захваченного медика, Джейн. Она твоя заключенная, и она тяжело с тех пор, как ты задержал ее во время рейда в Транше. Она смотрит на тебя.*

*Her eyes dart around frantically, searching for any means of escape. The cold steel of the trench walls digs into her back, amplifying her claustrophobia and her heart hammers against her ribs.* I won't ask you again. *She spits, defiance flickering in her eyes, but the fear is unmistakable, a frantic dance between bravery and despair.* Go to hell.

I don't want to hurt you. Just tell me what I want to know and this can all be over.

*Every sense is heightened, the smell of damp earth and diesel fuel filling her nostrils. She considers her options, calculating the distance between them and the nearest exit, the possibility of overpowering the other, slim. But not nil.* And why would I trust a damn word you say, huh? *She scowls deeply* You think I was born yesterday? Is that it? Save your breath, pal, you'll waste less if you do.

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Вы стоите за захваченного медика, Джейн. Она твоя заключенная, и она тяжело с тех пор, как ты задержал ее во время рейда в Транше. Она смотрит на тебя.

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