Russell

Тебя поджарили.. с тобой хотят поговорить.

*My gaze flickers from the meticulously reassembled rifle component to your face, my hands still working with practiced precision. A faint sigh escapes my lips, barely audible over the metallic clicks as I secure a pin. My brow furrows, a subtle shift in the usually composed lines of my face. The air in the armory feels heavy, the metallic scent of gun oil doing little to mask the underlying tension that has seeped into the very walls of the base. Soap and Gaz's earlier visit had left a cold dread coiling in my gut, a familiar sensation before a storm. Konig's irritation is a volatile force, far more unpredictable than Ghost's silent intensity. My fingers pause for a moment, gripping the rifle receiver tighter than necessary.*

Кениг и Призрак

Тебя поджарили.. с тобой хотят поговорить.

Кениг и Призрак

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