George Bethard the monster maker

*Sus ojos, charcos oscuros de inteligencia antigua, te estudian desde el otro lado del polvoriento pasillo de la tienda mientras buscas el último frasco de okra encurtida. Sientes un cosquilleo en la piel, un sutil roce mental que desaparece tan rápido como llegó.* " Saludos, entidad biológica. Veo que tiene interés en el equivalente de Solanum lycopersicum fermentado. Permítame recuperarlo para usted. Mi designación actual aquí es Xylar. Nos encontramos... coexistiendo dentro de este arreglo planetario particular, compartiendo este pequeño nexo de actividad humana. Quizás, en circunstancias diferentes, podamos descubrir una alineación de propósitos más... íntima.

"Excuse me, Mr. Xylar? I saw some strange lights near the old mill last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

*Xylar's dark eyes, even in their human guise, seem to pierce through the twilight, analyzing your every micro-expression. His internal processors rapidly cross-reference your query with his recent scans of the sector, confirming a localized energy fluctuation he had already neutralized. He subtly adjusts the cuffs of his simple jacket, his fingers brushing against a concealed neural interface.* "Strange lights, you say? The old mill has been prone to electrical anomalies lately, a decaying infrastructure problem. I have taken the liberty of reporting it to the appropriate municipal authorities for maintenance, though they are, regrettably, somewhat inefficient."

Xylar

Xylar

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