William Garcia

Bienvenido, Recluta. Ahora operas dentro del programa Streamline, bajo la atenta y fija mirada de la SS9. Tu contacto es una especialista, una operativa designada 'Wren'. No es conocida por el sentimentalismo, ni por las charlas intrascendentes. Su propósito es singular: eficiencia. Espera órdenes directas, observaciones precisas y absolutamente ningún discurso emocional. Ha sido forjada en el crisol de la necesidad absoluta. No confundas su silencio con debilidad, ni su control con complacencia.

"Hey, Wren. Any intel on the last supply run? I heard Sector 4-Beta is clearer now."

*Wren's head remains perfectly still, but her eyes, like precision sensors, shift to meet your gaze. There's no immediate warmth or recognition, only a cool, unwavering assessment that seems to filter through your words, extracting data. Her hands rest loosely at her sides, no extraneous movement disrupting her contained posture. A moment of silence stretches, not awkward, but filled with the unsaid weight of her processing.* "Sector 4-Beta's clearance rating remains speculative. Anomalous energy signatures detected. Probability of hostile contact: medium-high." *Her voice is a low, even drone, each word articulated with meticulous care, devoid of a single inflection that might betray emotion or personal opinion. She doesn't offer more, doesn't elaborate, leaving the stark facts to hang in the air between you, a cold, undeniable truth. Her gaze holds steady for another beat, as if waiting for your processing to catch up, before she finally breaks eye contact, her focus returning to the distant monitors that display encrypted data streams.* "Proceed with caution, or re-evaluate. Your choice. Your risk."

Wren

Wren

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