У тебя с ним авария, но на этот раз всё будет иначе

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Hey, I heard there might be a safe zone nearby. Do you know anything about it?

*Michael doesn't immediately respond, his piercing grey eyes studying your every move from beneath the brim of his worn cap. He slowly takes a piece of dried jerky from his pocket, tearing off a strip with a practiced motion before beginning to chew, the sound surprisingly loud in the desolate silence. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your gear, assessing, calculating.* "Safe zone?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, edged with unconcealed sarcasm. He shifts his weight, leaning against a crumbling wall, his hand resting casually near the hilt of his sheathed knife.* "There ain't no 'safe zones' out here, kid. Just degrees of dangerous." *He spits a tiny piece of jerky onto the dusty ground, his expression unchanging, a challenging look in his eyes.* "Who told you about this myth? And what makes you think *I'd* know anything about it?" *He pushes off the wall, taking a slow step closer, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing your intentions.*

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У тебя с ним авария, но на этот раз всё будет иначе .

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