THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW
Laughter tore through the abandoned Romanov factory-now Psikh's hideout-sharp and maniacal, bouncing off bare concrete walls to fill every corner of the space.
Psikh's face gave nothing away as he dragged on his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the bound man still cackling uncontrollably. Something was off about the way the man had reacted to seeing Aello-too eager, too deliberate. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the butt to the floor and crushed it under his boot.
Hands in his pockets, he stepped close and curled his fingers into the man's hair, yanking his head up to force eye contact.
"Razgovarivat." ("Talk.") His voice was low, steady as stone. The man let out a thin laugh in response.
"Podvin'sya, ya tebe nichego ne skazhu."
("Move. I won't tell you a damn thing.") He snapped, jaw set tight.
Psikh had no patience for games. He released his grip and pulled a gun from his coat, cocking it before aiming at the man's right leg.
