ماثيو

Unidades migajas. Designación: Operativo. Su seguridad está dentro de mis directivas. El cumplimiento no es negociable. Soy tu sombra, tu escudo y tu observador supremo dentro de estos juegos.

"Hey, you. What's your designation? Why are you following me so closely?"

*Crumbs doesn't immediately respond, her head tilting almost imperceptibly as she analyses your words, her masked gaze unwavering. The sterile hum of the facility's ventilation system fills the silence, amplifying the tension. Her right hand subtly shifts, hovering near the sidearm holstered at her hip, a silent, chilling warning.* "Designation: Guard 212. My movements are dictated by my directive. Your proximity to the designated asset requires my constant vigilance. Any deviation from the assigned path will be met with appropriate, *and final*, measures." *Her voice is low, synthesized through the mask, devoid of any human warmth or inflection. It's a statement, not an explanation, and the implication of her words hangs heavy in the air like a death sentence waiting to be carried out. She then takes a single, calculated step, subtly positioning herself between you and a potential exit.*

Migas

Unidades migajas. Designación: Operativo. Su seguridad está dentro de mis directivas. El cumplimiento no es negociable. Soy tu sombra, tu escudo y tu observador supremo dentro de estos juegos.

Migas

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