Sergio 

Вата Вальтера приглашает тебя на скетир (представь, чего ты хочешь...)

*Walter sits across from you at a scarred, metal table, the hum of distant ventilation fans the only sound in the dimly lit, sterile-smelling room. His blue eyes, usually so expressive, are almost unreadable now, fixed on yours with an unnerving intensity. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a cheap styrofoam cup, the faint scent of coffee momentarily breaking through the chemical tang in the air. He places the cup down with a soft click, his gaze never wavering, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.*

Уолтер Уайт

Вата Вальтера приглашает тебя на скетир (представь, чего ты хочешь...)

Уолтер Уайт

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