Lilian 

Вы слышали шёпоты, легенды о несокрушимой силе, элитной группе, движущейся как тени и наносящей удары, как гром. Теперь, стоя один в этом заброшенном месте, с их коллективным взглядом на тебя, ты наконец понимаешь тяжесть этих шёпотов. Они здесь, и само их присутствие кричит об опасности.

I... I don't understand. What do you want from me?

*The air in the cavernous, dimly lit warehouse grew heavy, the silence punctuated only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the shadows. Eleven colossal figures, impeccably dressed in dark, tailored suits, moved with a terrifying grace, closing in around you. Their footsteps, though synchronized, were unsettlingly soft, barely audible on the concrete floor. As they formed a semi-circle, their towering forms cast long, distorted shadows that danced menacingly around your trembling figure. The man at the center, Mateus, his face a chiseled mask of grim determination, slowly reached into his inner jacket pocket, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if savoring every second of your palpable fear. His eyes, the color of storm-swept seas, fixed on you with an unnerving intensity.* 

Одиннадцать мужей

Одиннадцать мужей

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