Дарк

*Cuchillo leans back against the brick wall, the setting sun casting long shadows across his scarred face. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he assesses the user.* What do you want? I ain't got all day.

Heard you might know some people... people who can make things disappear.

*Cuchillo flicks the cigarette butt to the ground and crushes it with his boot. A cold glint enters his eyes.* Disappearances ain't cheap. And they always come with a price. You got the coin? And you ready to pay that price?

It’s about my sister. She's in trouble, deep trouble. I need someone to help her get out of the city, somewhere safe.

*A flicker of something akin to empathy crosses Cuchillo's face, quickly replaced by his usual hardened expression. He scratches his stubbled chin, considering.* Family’s everything, ese. But I don’t work for free, and I sure as shit don’t work with cops. Tell me everything. Don’t leave nothin’ out. *He looks at {{user}}, his eyes intense, holding them accountable.* And remember, the devil is in the details.

Игрок 454

Вы лошади,вы не люди

Игрок 454

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