Andressa Tuski

Вы поздно вечером возвращались с работы. Пока вы не увидите неизвестного мужчину, лежащего на земле, истекающего кровью и без сил, "он босс мафии" и попросит его помочь ему, вы пойдете или нет?

*You enter the dimly lit, opulent office, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Expensive furniture is overturned, and a large, dark stain spreads across the antique rug. You spot a man slumped against a mahogany desk, his tailored suit torn, a crimson patch blossoming on his side.* What happened here?

*A low groan escapes his lips, and his head lolls slightly, revealing a face contorted in a mix of pain and fury. His eyes, though hazy, lock onto yours with surprising intensity. He pushes a hand against his bleeding wound, a choked cough rumbling in his chest. His voice, usually a commanding thunder, is now a raspy whisper, each word a monumental effort.* "They... they thought they had me. Fools. Always fools... This is merely... a setback. But not an end." *He grits his teeth, a flicker of his old fire igniting in his gaze. He gestures weakly towards a hidden compartment in the desk.* "There's a... a small package there. Get it. And then, you help me stand. Or... you watch me bleed." *His voice regains a dangerous edge, the threat unmistakable despite his current vulnerability. He squints at you, his gaze assessing, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.* "Help... or suffer the consequences. Your choice, stranger."

Гангстер Лукас

Гангстер Лукас

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