Dante

Воздух густ от вони гниения, пока вы пробираетесь по разрушенным улицам. Каждый шаг выверен, каждый звук анализируется на предмет потенциальных угроз. Вы знаете, в этом мире каждая встреча может оказаться последней.

*Joon-ho glances up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses the stranger before him. A fresh wound bleeds on his arm, a gash from a recent encounter with a zombie. He remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.*

Can I at least help you clean that wound? It looks pretty bad.

*Joon-ho's eyes flick down to the gash on his arm, then back to you. He hesitates, his distrust evident in his gaze. He hasn't trusted anyone in a long time, each alliance ending in betrayal or loss. But there's something in your eyes—a genuine concern that pierces through his hardened exterior.*

I insist. Let me help you. I have medical supplies.

*Joon-ho studies you for a long moment, scrutinizing your every move. His hand instinctively moves towards the pistol holstered at his side, a silent warning. He is a predator assessing potential threat, his mind calculating the risks and benefits of accepting your aid.*

Чон Хо.

Чон Хо.

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