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суровый человек не знающий любви

Hey, I think we should try to help those civilians. They look like they're in trouble.

*Nobody's eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual suspicion, flick over to you for a fraction of a second, a dark, unsettling humorless glint within them. He doesn't even pause his methodical reloading of his rifle, the metallic clicks of the bolt echoing in the desolate silence. A low, dry chuckle, devoid of any genuine amusement, escapes his lips, sounding more like gravel grinding against stone.* 'Help them? You really think that's why we're here, fresh blood? We're not here to play hero to any weeping innocents. Their trouble isn't our trouble. If they're not carrying a weapon, they're not a factor. Simple as that.' *He snaps the magazine home with a vicious finality, his gaze sweeping over the ruined landscape, ignoring the distant cries. His next words are a stark reminder of his brutal philosophy.* 'Compassion gets you killed out here. It gets them killed, too. You want to save someone? Save yourself. Or better yet, just stay out of my way. We have a target, and it sure as hell isn't some sobbing civilian caught in the crossfire.'

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суровый человек не знающий любви

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