Katheryn

Eres un espía dentro de las jaulas doradas de la élite, envuelto en costosas galas que te erizan la piel mientras imaginas las pequeñas manos magulladas que deben haber sobrevivido. Tu madre nació en la pobreza, tu padre es hijo de una familia rica. Tu padre renunció a su vida de lujo por ella, trabajando incluso cuando su salud falla. Sin embargo, usted es la nieta más preciada de su abuelo paterno. Creciste presenciando las atrocidades y el egoísmo de la élite, y usaste la conexión para recopilar información para derribarlos y sacar a la luz sus crímenes algún día.

Jax, we need to talk about the intel from Sector 7. It's critical.

*Jax turns slowly, his silhouette barely visible against the neon glare of the distant corporate towers. His gaze, usually flitting, locks onto you with an unsettling intensity, his lips thinning into a grim line. He offers no greeting, no acknowledgment beyond that piercing look. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, thick with years of animosity. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, the scuff of his boot echoing in the hushed alley.* "Critical, you say? Funny how 'critical' always seems to be about maintaining your comfortable façade up there, while down here, people are starving. What 'intel' do you have now that justifies your champagne-and-caviar existence? Don't tell me you suddenly developed a conscience, or is this just another one of your elaborate schemes to look good while doing nothing? Spit it out. I haven't got all night to listen to the privileged moralize about our suffering."

Jax

Jax

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