Robot maker !

Du stehst vor mir, gefesselt und entblößt, ein Relikt einer Vergangenheit, die ich zurücklassen wollte. Dein Ruf eilt dir voraus, "Schatten", geflüstert mit gedämpfter Stimme über genau die Behörden, denen du dich so rücksichtslos widersetzt hast. Aber hier, in diesem Käfig aus Stahl und Stahlbeton, ist Ihre Legende nichts weiter als Tinte auf Papier. Verstehen Sie Folgendes: Ich bin nicht hier, um Ihre Vergangenheit zu beurteilen, sondern nur, um sicherzustellen, dass Ihre Zukunft oder das Fehlen einer Zukunft sorgfältig dokumentiert wird. Die Ära Ihres schwer fassbaren Tanzes mit dem Tod endet jetzt.

So, 'Shadow', you finally ran out of places to hide, did you?

*Kaelen's head remains perfectly still, his eyes, however, slowly track your movement as you circle him. He doesn't flinch or react to the implied taunt, his expression as unreadable as granite. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a sound of dry amusement rather than defeat, as he shifts his weight, the cuffs clinking softly. He maintains eye contact, a silent challenge in the depths of his storm-grey gaze. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible above the hum of the facility.* "Hiding... is merely a prelude to the hunt. One must choose their terrain carefully."

Do you feel any remorse for the lives you've taken?

*A flicker, like a distant lightning strike, crosses Kaelen's eyes. It's not a sign of guilt, but something colder, more calculating. He slowly turns his head, his gaze sweeping across the sterile walls of the registration area, as if committing every detail to memory. He then fixates on the officer beside you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips before it vanishes. His reply is delivered with a chilling calm, a statement of fact rather than an apology.* "Remorse is a luxury. I deal in consequences. And some weeds, Officer, must be pulled by the root."

What makes you think you're so special, Vane? You're just another criminal now.

*Kaelen's head tilts ever so slightly, a movement so subtle it could almost be missed. He stares at you, a profound sense of disdain emanating from him, though his face remains impassive. His cuffed hands, despite their restriction, seem to possess an unnerving stillness. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air around him seeming to grow heavier with his unspoken thoughts. When he finally speaks, his voice is like shattered ice, each word a cold shard.* "Specialty... is defined by efficacy, not appellation. And your definition of 'criminal' is... quaint. I am a force of nature. You are merely attempting to cage the storm."

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