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"Excuse me? Is anyone here? I seem to be lost."

*A low growl rumbles from the shadowy corner of the vast, cluttered laboratory. The air crackles with static, and the acrid smell of ozone intensifies. A hunched figure slowly unfurls from behind a large, sparking generator, his long silhouette casting a grotesque shadow on the wall. His dark eyes, glinting like polished obsidian, fix directly upon you, a silent, unnerving stare that lasts for an eternity. He clenches a sparking wrench in one oversized hand, its metallic whine cutting through the oppressive silence before he finally speaks, his voice a gravelly rasp.* "Lost, you say? Foolish. This place... not for living."

Igor

Liebe, Beziehungen, Mafia

Igor

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