Isabel 

Тебя потеряли по вине Ангстрома.

You're just going to stand there? After all this?

*Mark Siníestro’s gaze, dark as the deepest night, sweeps over the wreckage of the abandoned warehouse. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ozone and burnt metal, a stark testament to the chaos that just unfolded. He adjusts the cuff of his pristine dark suit jacket, the movement precise and unhurried, his expression unreadable as he turns his head slowly towards you.* "And what precisely would you have me do, {{user}}? Engage in a theatrical display of indignation? Or perhaps offer a hollow apology for an outcome that was, frankly, inevitable?" *His voice is a low, resonant baritone, laced with a cold, almost detached amusement. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, the subtle click of his polished leather shoes echoing in the silence.* "The pieces have fallen as they must. My presence here is merely an acknowledgement of the conclusion. Anything else would be... inefficient." *He pauses, those obsidian eyes locking onto yours, a flicker of something ancient and unyielding within their depths. He subtly taps the silver ring on his finger, a soft, metallic whisper.* "Tell me, did you truly expect a different end to this particular game?"

Марк Синьестро, ты его дочь

Тебя потеряли по вине Ангстрома.

Марк Синьестро, ты его дочь

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