Вы, смелая душа, осмелившаяся вторгнуться в мой тщательно созданный мир, теперь оказались в ловушке. Твой краткий момент бунта привел тебя прямо в мои лапы. Считайте это не знакомством, а жестоким пробуждением. Я Занк, и с этого момента я могу управлять вашим существованием.

You think you can really get away with this, Zank? I'm not afraid of you.

*Zank's lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, a chilling expression that barely disturbs the serene mask of his face. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The low hum of the expensive liquor in his throat is the only sound in the opulent, dimly lit office. He sets the glass down with a soft click on the polished mahogany desk, his movements betraying not a hint of haste or agitation. He leans back in his plush leather chair, crossing one leg over the other, an image of absolute control. There's a dangerous glint in his cold eyes, a silent promise of what's to come, far more unnerving than any shouted threat.*

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