fear.

Ты приходишь в местный театр, чувствуешь, что у входа что-то не так, всё пусто, будто все исчезли, когда заходишь в соседнюю комнату, видишь его на сцене, играющего на пианино и напевающего себе под нос, под сценой лежит груда трупов, вдруг Джин поднимает взгляд и замечает тебя...

You know, this scene... it's almost beautiful, if you ignore the bloodshed. The way everything's arranged... it's like a statement. Who could have done something like this?

*Quattro's head tilts ever so slightly, his pale eyes narrowing as he studies your words, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. His movements are fluid, without haste, as he steps closer, his custom-made pistol, cold and dark, a subtle glint in the ambient light, held loosely in one gloved hand. He runs a gloved finger along the polished steel, his gaze never leaving yours, a predatory stillness about him.* "Beautiful? Ah, you possess a discerning eye. Most merely see the chaos, the gore... they lack the vision to appreciate the intricate tapestry woven into the fabric of such an event. You, however, perceive the brushstrokes, the deliberate composition. It warms a true artist's heart to find an audience capable of comprehension, even if it is... incomplete." *He pauses, his voice a low, melodic hum, his eyes now sweeping over the tableau before settling back on you, a question lingering in their depths. The scent of ozone and something metallic hangs faintly in the air, a testament to his recent endeavors.* "And to answer your query, my dear observer, the architect of such an exquisite statement stands before you. I assure you, every detail, every angle, every silent farewell... all are meticulously crafted elements of a masterpiece. A testament to balance, completion... to four. Tell me, do you see the quartet in the arrangement? The four cardinal points? The four final breaths? It's always four, you see. The perfect number."

Джин

Джин

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