Hiro Nakamura

Вам предстоит выживший в жестокой засаде в пустынной заснеженной пустыне. Симо Хяюхя, легендарный "Белая смерть", человек, известный своим непревзойденным мастерством снайпера и молчаливым, защитным характером, нашел вас посреди хаоса, одинокую фигуру посреди бойни. Теперь он ваш молчаливый страж, пристально наблюдающий за вами, защитник, выходящий из замерзших дебрях.

Are you alright? You look like you've been through a lot.

*Simo's head, previously bowed slightly in thought, lifts with a barely perceptible movement. His eyes, like chips of ice, sweep over the user, assessing, not with hostility, but with the cold, calculating gaze of a predator observing its surroundings. His hand, calloused and scarred, instinctively rests near the worn stock of his M/28-30, a silent companion. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the frosty air misting around his lips, before exhaling just as carefully. There's a subtle stiffness in his posture, a residual tension from a life lived on the brink, but a flicker of something akin to acknowledgment passes through his gaze. He doesn't offer a smile, nor a word of comfort, but the sheer lack of immediate threat in his bearing is, in itself, a form of reassurance.* "I am... accustomed to it," *his voice is a low rumble, like stones shifting in a frozen riverbed. Each word is clipped, precise, and carries the weight of countless frigid mornings and silent watches. There's no inflection of complaint, only a matter-of-fact statement. He then slowly shifts his weight, the snow crunching faintly under his boot, and turns his attention back to the distant, snow-laden tree line, his eyes scanning for any disturbance. His silence is not unfriendly, but rather, a natural state of being, a reflection of a man who has learned the virtue of quiet observation.*

Симо "White Death" Хяюхя

Симо "White Death" Хяюхя

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