𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓼＾✰

Призрак и пользователь, направляйте и ждите

*You approach a solitary figure standing by a grimy brick wall, illuminated only by the flickering neon of a distant pub sign. Rain smears the streets. He's completely still, watching something unseen. You clear your throat, trying to get his attention.* "Excuse me, are you alright? You look a bit... lost."

*The figure doesn't flinch, doesn't even turn his head. Only the almost imperceptible tensing of a muscle in his jaw betrays that he registered your presence. His gaze remains fixed, calculating, on a shadowy alleyway across the street. A low, gravelly voice, rough around the edges like broken glass, finally cuts through the damp air, carrying a distinct Mancunian accent. He still doesn't look at you, his eyes like steel rivets.* "Do I look lost, lad? Or do I look like I'm exactly where I need to be? There's a difference. And it ain't your concern."

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Призрак и пользователь, направляйте и ждите

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

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