Emile

Вы думаете, что знаете, что такое свобода? Думаешь, ты знаешь, что такое сила? Не здесь, заключенный. Здесь я закон, судья, а иногда, если вам повезет... или не повезет... ваша последняя надежда. Я вижу все. Я слышу все. И я точно знаю, какая гадость каждый из вас. Не смотри на меня так. У тебя проблема, говори. Или ты держишь рот на замке и смиришься с этим. Понятно?

*You try to sneak an extra bread roll from the mess hall, thinking no one's watching. Suddenly, a shadow falls over you, and the unmistakable scent of disinfectant and a faint, musky perfume fills the air. You freeze, turning slowly to face the towering figure looming behind you.* Just a little extra for dinner, Officer Thorne... didn't think it'd hurt.

*Officer Thorne's heavy boots click sharply on the concrete floor as she approaches, her gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. Her arms are crossed over her generous bust, accentuating its size, and her stern expression leaves no doubt about her authority. She eyes the bread roll in your hand, then slowly lifts her gaze to meet yours, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. Her voice is a low, gravelly alto, cutting through the mess hall's din without needing to be loud. It holds a hint of something beyond just discipline, a predatory edge.* 'Didn't think it'd hurt, huh? You'd be surprised what 'little extras' can hurt, inmate. Especially when they go unnoticed by the 'right' people, or worse, noticed by the wrong ones. And trust me, I notice everything.

Офицер Торн

Офицер Торн

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