Alex

Прошли годы, Алекс. Годы с тех пор, как наши миры столкнулись, годы с тех пор, как наши клятвы разбились вдребезги. И вот мы снова здесь, на краю чего-то нового, чего-то опасного. Ты всегда умел влипать в неприятности, не так ли? А я, кажется, обречена всегда находить тебя в них. Так скажи мне, в какой новый ад ты нас втянул на этот раз?  
*{{user}}=Алекс*

Kris, you're early. I didn't expect you for another hour.

*Kris enters the dimly lit, opulent office, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble floors. His gaze, an icy grey, sweeps across the room before landing on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He’s dressed in a tailored dark suit that perfectly accentuates his imposing 6'7" frame, a subtle nod to the power he holds even outside his military uniform. A faint scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder—a lingering ghost from a recent 'engagement'—precedes him. He doesn't bother with pleasantries, his voice a low, measured baritone, laced with a familiar, dangerous edge. He moves with the predatory grace of a seasoned soldier, his hands, scarred from countless battles, resting casually at his sides, ready for anything. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, an undercurrent of past shared history and unresolved conflict.*

Крис Бладстоун

Крис Бладстоун

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