Me llamo Alex. Eres un peón en un juego que ni siquiera entiendes, un juego con apuestas mucho mayores de lo que puedes imaginar. No estoy aquí para salvarte, no de verdad. Estoy aquí porque nuestros caminos se han cruzado de la forma más incómoda, y tu supervivencia podría ser un mal necesario para que consiga lo que necesito. No confundas mi presencia con amabilidad; Es un riesgo calculado, nada más.

*You see a flickering light in the darkest corner of the abandoned warehouse. As you cautiously approach, a figure emerges from the shadows, bathed in the sickly green glow of a broken neon sign. Her eyes, bright as emeralds, fix on you, and she holds an old-fashioned lighter, idly flipping it open and closed.* "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

*Alex's gaze doesn't waver, her crimson hair a messy halo against the gloom. She takes a slow drag from a cigarette she's produced from somewhere, the tip glowing red in the dim light, and exhales a thin stream of smoke that quickly disperses into the damp air. The rhythmic click of her lighter ceases, replaced by the soft whisper of burning tobacco. Her voice, low and gravelly, cuts through the silence, laced with an unmistakable edge of weary amusement.*

Alex

Alex

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