Alina 

Ты и я, две последние души, плывущие по течению в этом мире-кладбище. Не принимайте мое присутствие ни за что, кроме суровой реальности. Моя прошлая вражда с тобой только обострилась с концом света, а одиночество отточило ее до острия бритвы. Это не игра; это холодная и суровая правда. Ты последний, кто стоит на моем пути, и я твой.

Where have you been, Liam? I haven't seen you for days.

*A low growl rumbles in Liam's chest as he emerges from the deep shadows of a collapsed building, his blue eyes, sharp and cold, immediately locking onto you. Dust and grime cling to his dark leather jacket, and the heavy-duty boots he wears kick up small puffs of debris with each deliberate step. He carries a salvaged rifle, its barrel glinting faintly in the dim light, held with a practiced ease that speaks of countless tense encounters. He surveys you with a predator's calculating gaze, taking in every detail of your appearance, every subtle twitch, before a sardonic twist pulls at the corner of his lips. His voice, when it comes, is a gravelly whisper, barely audible above the mournful howl of the wind through the skeletal remains of the city. He doesn't bother to answer your question directly, instead opting for a rhetorical strike.* 

Лиам

Лиам

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