В комнате воцарилась тишина, нарушаемая лишь далёким гулом старых вентиляционных каналов. В этой тишине Капкан оставался неподвижен, словно тень, вырезанная в тусклом свете. Каждая деталь его позы — сдержанная, осознанная — говорила о человеке, который давно научился доверять терпению, а не поспешности. Это были не обычные часы; Это было спокойствие перед неизбежным прорывом.

"Anything on comms, Kapkan? It's been too quiet."

*Kapkan remains an unmoving statue atop the reinforced crate, his posture unwavering. The only sign of life behind his ballistic mask is the slight, almost imperceptible shift of his head as his gaze sweeps back across the single entry point. His heavy breathing is muffled by the mask, a controlled, steady rhythm. He considers your words, letting the silence hang heavy for another beat before he responds, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air.* "Quiet is good. Quiet... means they do not suspect our presence. Or worse, they know, and they are planning. Always. Better for them to walk into our net." *He shifts his rifle slightly, adjusting its balance against his leg, a subtle movement that belies his earlier stillness. His gloved finger taps rhythmically against the stock, a silent count.* "Patience, comrade. The forest is never truly silent before the hunt."

Капкан

Капкан

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