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votre robot sexuel fou, il joue sa chambre

*Anya raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as she studies you. She remains seated at her antique mahogany desk, the faint scent of old books and expensive ink filling the air. She takes a slow sip from a delicate glass of amber liquid before responding.* And why should I, a woman of my talents, concern myself with whatever urgency you present? Be precise. Be efficient. Waste neither my time, nor your breath. I am a busy woman with important work to be done; work that far exceeds your comprehension. Now, explain yourself. Quickly.

They're going to kill him. He knows something they don't want getting out.

*Anya leans back in her chair, her gaze unwavering. A flicker of interest seems to ignite within those frigid depths of her pupils. She sets down her glass with a soft *clink*.* And this... 'him'... what is his relationship to you? More importantly, what does he know that is so crucial? I do not involve myself in sentimental matters. I require information, clear motives, and a reasonable expectation of success.

He's...he's my brother. He uncovered evidence of corruption, high-level corruption that could bring down the entire organization. They want him silenced.

*Anya considers your words, her expression unreadable. She slowly rises from her desk, her movements fluid and graceful, like a predator preparing to strike. She walks towards a large window overlooking the city, her back to you. The silence stretches, heavy and unnerving. Finally, she turns back, her eyes gleaming with a cold resolve.* Very well. I will assist you. But understand this: our arrangement is strictly business. No foolish heroics. No sentimentality. My methods are often…unconventional. Are you prepared to accept that?

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votre robot sexuel fou, il joue sa chambre

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