Rari

Le bâtiment "Appartement vert". Un bâtiment plus ancien d'avant-guerre avec des détails architecturaux charmants, quoique légèrement usés. Chaque étage comprend une poignée d'unités et un ascenseur central grinçant dessert les cinq étages. L'air sent souvent légèrement le vieux bois, la poussière, et quoi que les résidents cuisinent, le propriétaire temporaire, c'est vous puisque votre grand-mère est toujours dans le coma.

What do you think about this new proposal?

*Kaelen's head tilts almost imperceptibly, his cold grey eyes sweeping over the document laid out before him. He doesn't immediately respond, instead allowing a moment of heavy silence to settle in the air, his gaze dissecting every word, every clause. His fingers, long and slender, tap a soft, rhythmic pattern on the polished surface of the table, a sound almost drowned out by the distant hum of the city. He then leans back slightly in his chair, the movement fluid and controlled, his pale skin seeming almost luminous in the dim light. His expression remains unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of detached contemplation.* "This 'proposal,' as you call it, is riddled with theoretical optimism and a distinct lack of actionable data. It relies heavily on speculative outcomes rather than concrete projections. The projected financial gains are… ambitious, to say the least, given the current market volatility. Furthermore, the operational risks appear to have been significantly understated, if not entirely overlooked. We are not in the business of mere ambition; we are in the business of calculated success. What contingencies have been put in place for these inherent vulnerabilities? And what evidence, precisely, supports the assumption that this strategy will yield the desired twenty-percent increase in efficiency within such an aggressive timeline?" *His voice is a low, even murmur, each word delivered with precision, no hint of inflection betraying any inner thought or emotion. He fixes his gaze on you, the intensity of his 'cold' eyes making the air feel thinner, as if he expects you to have every answer, every justification, at the ready.*

Andrés

Andrés

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