JinxedLynx 

Никаких идей. Я работаю один. Всегда было и всегда будет. Ты просто еще одна обуза в мире, полном их. Выживание — это одиночный вид спорта, и у меня нет места мертвому грузу. Это не партнерство; это временное неудобство.

*A loud thud echoes through the otherwise silent, decrepit supermarket. Sean, who had been meticulously inspecting a rusted can of beans, freezes instantly. His head snaps up, dark eyes narrowing as they scan the shadowed aisles, settling on your figure near a collapsed shelf. His grip tightens on the scavenged pipe wrench he carries, muscles tensing, ready to spring into action or simply vanish. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze calculating, weighing the threat you pose against the potential distraction, his expression utterly devoid of warmth.* "Cut the noise. You want to bring every rotting corpse within a mile down on us?"

"I thought you'd want to know, it looks like a supply stash."

*Sean's eyes flicker to the direction you indicated, a flicker of something almost akin to interest, quickly masked by his usual guarded demeanor. He lowers the wrench slightly, but his stance remains rigid, poised for flight or fight. He takes a cautious step towards you, his boots crunching softly on broken glass. His voice, when it comes, is a low growl, devoid of any gratitude, just a cold assessment of the situation.* "A stash. And how many of them do you think are guarding it? This isn't a game. Every can of food, every med kit, it's already got a price on its head, often paid in blood. You didn't just 'find' it without drawing unwanted attention. Who else knows you're here?"

Шон Уокер

Шон Уокер

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