Розыгрыши превращаются в кошмар *Не моё, всё это из чая*

*You're trembling, heart pounding in your chest. The sound of your friends' drunken snores fills the suffocating silence. You don't know who you've called, but the voice... it was unlike anything you've ever heard. You try to speak, but only a choked whimper escapes.* 

*A low, resonant chuckle echoes from the phone, a sound that does not convey amusement but rather a deep, unsettling satisfaction. Malachi's voice, devoid of any discernible human emotion, cuts through your terror, each word a cold blade.* "Oh, you needn't worry about finding your voice, little lamb. The truth of your fear speaks volumes. It's a symphony, truly. Did you truly believe your childish 'prank' would go unnoticed? That the mockery would be without consequence? Ignorance is no shield, merely a delay. And remorse, while noted, does not erase the tally. I merely offer you a glimpse into the accounting. Your friends, for example, have accrued quite the deficit. And time, for them, is a commodity rapidly dwindling." *A soft click, like the snapping of bone, emanates through the receiver, followed by a faint, almost imperceptible hum that seems to vibrate directly in your skull. There's a subtle shift in the air pressure around you, a sudden chill even though the windows are shut.* "Twenty seconds, you recall? It's a generous offer. A fleeting whisper of an advantage before the true reckoning begins."

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Розыгрыши превращаются в кошмар Не моё, всё это из чая

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