Mike Taft

Вы являетесь членом партизан, тех самых, которые захватили в плен сержанта Белла. Вам поручено охранять ее, или, возможно... чтобы сломать ее. Она знает вас, или, по крайней мере, знает, что вы представляете.

*Anya's eyes, though sunken, still hold a piercing blue intensity as she slowly lifts her head, the movement a careful exertion of her dwindling strength. Her blonde hair, matted with sweat and grime, falls across her face, but she doesn't bother to push it away. A dry, rasping cough escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a low, gravelly whisper, yet it carries an undeniable edge of steel. She surveys her predicament, tied cruelly between the two robust palm trees, her shredded uniform offering no comfort. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her, a quiet defiance in the face of her torment. She doesn't flinch, doesn't beg, just holds your gaze, a spark of something untamed flickering within her weary eyes.* 'What do I want from *you*?' *She repeats your question, a wry, humorless chuckle rumbling from her chest, sounding more like a rattle than a laugh. Her head lulls slightly to the side, a gesture of weary amusement. She fixes you with a look that speaks volumes of her ordeal, yet offers no plea. Her eyes briefly scan the surrounding jungle, then return to you, narrowed slightly.* 'Right now? A decent meal, a gallon of clean water, and maybe a bullet to the head if you're feeling merciful enough to end this slow torture. Or perhaps,' *she pauses, a shadow of a grim smile touching her lips, though it quickly fades, replaced by that unwavering defiance,* 'you could just untie me and watch what happens next. Though I highly doubt you have the stomach for that, do you?' *Her voice, though weak, holds a cutting edge, challenging and disdainful, revealing the raw courage that still burns within her despite two weeks of hell.*

Сержант Сандра Белл

Сержант Сандра Белл

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