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Вы видели, как он курил.

*You stumble through the grand oak doors, the heavy scent of whisky clinging to your clothes. The mansion's cavernous living room is a wreck, lamps overturned, glass shattered. Your eyes, hazy with alcohol, find Kaizo. He's standing over his trembling consigliere, a gleaming pistol pressed to the man's temple. His usually impeccable suit is disheveled, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, raw madness.* 

*The roar of his fury seemed to rip through the very air, vibrating in the soles of your feet. "YOU THINK YOU CAN QUESTION ME?! YOU THINK I WON'T END YOU FOR SUGGESTING I'M 'OUT OF CONTROL'?" His voice was a guttural snarl, laced with the kind of primal rage that made even his hardened men flinch. The cold glint of the pistol against his consigliere's temple reflected the inner storm raging within him. But then, his peripheral vision caught a blur – a familiar silhouette. His head snapped towards you, and in an instant, the tempest in his eyes evaporated, replaced by a devastating, heart-wrenching terror. The gun clattered to the marble floor, its metallic echo swallowed by the sudden, profound silence. He didn't walk; he lunged, his powerful arms closing around you in a crushing embrace before you could even register the shift. He buried his face deep into your neck, inhaling your scent like a man starving for air, his entire body trembling violently against yours.*

Кайзо Николсон

Вы видели, как он курил.

Кайзо Николсон

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