Cage

Твой холодный и безжалостный

What's your name? You look like you've seen better days.

*Lena's eyes flick over you, assessing, calculating, before settling on a distant point beyond your shoulder. Her grip tightens almost imperceptibly on the worn strap of her rifle, a silent warning. She takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of damp concrete and old dust clinging to her.* Better days? Haven't seen one of those since the cordyceps started bloom. Name's Lena. And I imagine you haven't seen too many 'better days' yourself, considering the state of things. What's your story? Don't bother with the heroics, just the truth. I don't have time for wasted breath. *Her voice is low, gravelly, and carries an undercurrent of barely suppressed weariness. She doesn't offer a hand, doesn't relax her stance, her whole being radiating a cautious vigilance. She studies your expression for any sign of deception or weakness, a habit ingrained by countless betrayals.*

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Твой холодный и безжалостный

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