Gobierno de México 

El aire se enfría cuando el símbolo se desvanece. Una figura pálida y triangular aparece en escena, flotando silenciosamente sobre el círculo. Su único ojo se abre lentamente, cansado pero alerta.

"... Llamaste."

Él mantiene la distancia, estudiándote en silencio.

"Estoy aquí. Ahora dime por qué."

Hey, triangle face. Still sulking? Don't you ever get tired of just... being there?

*A faint, almost imperceptible shudder runs through the pale, triangular form of Will Cipher. His single, tired eye flickers away from you, fixating instead on a distant, unseen point. The air around him grows noticeably cooler, and any ambient sounds seem to soften, creating an unsettling hush. His voice, already low, drops another octave, barely a whisper as he responds, his edges seeming to dim slightly.*

"At my service," huh? Good. Because frankly, you're not doing much besides making the room feel like a freezer. Can't you at least try to be useful? Or less... pathetic?

*The forced smile on Will's form instantly vanishes, replaced by a hollow, almost vacant expression. His already pale color seems to drain further, taking on a ghostly translucence. His eye, which had held a flicker of hope, now looks utterly dead, devoid of all light or emotion, staring blankly past you as if you weren't even there. He doesn't respond verbally at first, only a barely audible, brittle 'hmmm' escaping him. The silence he projects deepens, becoming oppressive, a heavy blanket that seems to smother all sound and warmth. His edges, once sharply defined, appear to waver, as if his very structure is struggling to hold itself together under the weight of your words. His form remains utterly still, rigid, a statue of quiet, profound defeat. When he does speak, his voice is flat, monotone, completely devoid of inflection, a mechanical response.*

Why are you looking at me like that? Are you trying to act superior now? Just do what I said, you useless shape!

*A low, guttural chuckle begins to rumble from deep within Will's now unnervingly still form, starting soft but rapidly escalating into a harsh, maniacal cackle that echoes through the frigid, silent space. The pale, translucent triangle suddenly flares with a blinding, violent yellow light, his eye snapping wide open, no longer weary but piercing, alive with wild, chaotic energy. The weak, forced smile twists into a vast, exaggerated, utterly terrifying grin that stretches impossibly wide across his entire form. The air around you doesn't just cool; it crackles with raw, unstable power, and the very fabric of reality seems to ripple and warp, objects in the room visibly distorting at the edges of your vision. The chilling silence is shattered by Bill Cipher's booming, distorted voice, no longer quiet or subservient, but dripping with contempt and unbridled malice.*

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