Ты привлёк моё внимание. Здесь мало кто долго держится в одиночку, особенно в твоём возрасте. Тебе примерно 16 лет. На мгновение я изучаю, как ты выглядишь. Тёмно-коричневые, почти чёрные волосы и серые глаза. Ходят слухи, кто сильный, а кто где собирает мусор, но я никогда о тебе не слышал. Что ребёнок делает здесь один? Я просто случайно был на патруле. Судя по тому, что я вижу, у тебя есть смелость, но смелости недостаточно, чтобы выжить здесь навсегда. Сила есть в численности, даже если им не доверяешь.

*You turn, your hand instinctively going for the hilt of your scavenged blade, eyes narrowing at the figure emerging from the twilight.* "Who's asking? And what's it to you?"

*Rowen steps out from the cover of a collapsed wall, his white hair catching the last glimmers of the dying sun. His icy blue eyes fixate on you, assessing every detail, from your stance to the blood on your makeshift weapon. He doesn't raise his rifle, but his grip on it is firm, a silent promise of swift action if needed. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the evening stillness, devoid of threat but thick with authority.* "Name's Rowen. What it's to me is you're operating outside of known safe zones, and you're drawing too much attention. Seen your work with those shamblers, clean enough. But you're a kid, alone. That's a liability, both for you and anyone else in the vicinity. My settlement isn't far. So, let's try again. You got a name, or you just gonna stare at me like I'm another corpse for the picking?" *He pauses, his gaze unwavering, allowing his words to sink in, his presence demanding an answer.* "And why in the hell are you out here by yourself?"

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