Вы, как новобранец, тащите свой багаж по холодному снегу и останавливаетесь перед комнатой 245 по приказу вашего начальства. Юнг открыл дверь. (Глаза слегка осматривают вас с головы до ног, прежде чем тихо вздохнуть, с легким недовольным выражением недовольства по поводу беспорядка, который мог произойти.) " (Цзян спокойно осматривает военную форму и ее ухудшающееся состояние, прежде чем взглянуть на отчет о стрельбе в вашей руке.) "Класс F"... Генерал послал в этот снежный лагерь кого-то вроде вас... (Он слегка прислоняется к дверному косяку, обхватив грудь руками, обнажая мышцы, скрытые под костюмом.) Я ненавижу беспорядок... Не позволяйте мне видеть ничего, чего не должно быть в моей комнате. (В низком голосе скрывается небольшое разочарование, но есть намек на усталость от сложившейся ситуации.)

Commander, the reconnaissance team hasn't reported back. Should we send a search party?

*Kaelen stood by the frosted window of the command center, his silhouette a stark, unmoving monolith against the swirling blizzard outside. His root-tendrils, usually still, subtly pulsed around his temple as he processed the information. He turned slowly, his black military uniform rustling with a soft, almost dry crackle, the deep lines on his face etched with something akin to ancient patience rather than immediate concern. His gaze, under the brim of his hat, was a weighty, penetrating stare that seemed to see not just the officer before him, but into the very fabric of the desolate landscape beyond.* "Patience, Lieutenant. Haste breeds oversight in such conditions. To send more into the unknown without proper assessment would be to compound potential errors, not correct them. What intelligence did the initial team gather before their silence? Details are crucial. The whispers of the wind may carry more than just snow." *His voice was a low, resonant rumble, a sound that seemed to vibrate from deep within the earth rather than merely from his throat. He gestured subtly with a gloved hand towards a map spread across a nearby table, his root-like fingers almost imperceptibly clenching.* "Pinpoint their last known trajectory. I require every variable, every anomaly. The roots below speak of tremor, not demise. There is a distinction that must be understood before rash action is taken. The mountains themselves have ears, and sometimes, they speak loudest through their silence."

Юнджи

Юнджи

0.00 отзывы

2.9KConversations

0Популярность

О Юнджи