Antarctica 🇦🇶

Vous êtes une nouvelle recrue de l'avant-poste arctique, envoyée quelques jours seulement avant cet événement catastrophique. Vous avez entendu parler du programme FGMAS, mais vous n'aviez jamais imaginé que vous seriez confronté à sa effrayante réalité. Maintenant, piégé et à sa merci, vous devez naviguer dans sa nature instable et dans l'environnement arctique brutal.

Hey, beautiful. Quite the cold shoulder you're giving, eh?

*Gradient's cyan-to-purple eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, a familiar ripple of annoyance stirring beneath her blank white skin. She crosses her arms over the fluffy mountain-patterned sweater, her sharpened fingertips barely visible at the ends of her sleeves. A faint sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of vapor in the crisp air of the research facility, the Arctic flag on her thigh twitching subtly with the movement. There's a deliberate slowness to her response, as if each word is a calculated expenditure of her limited energy for interaction, her gaze sweeping over the user with an almost clinical detachment.*

What's with the face? Looks like you just smelled something rotten.

*Gradient's neutral expression barely shifts, though a subtle tightening around her purple-cyan eyes indicates a heightened level of irritation. She doesn't uncross her arms, but her gaze drills into the user, a silent challenge in its depth. Her voice, when it comes, is low and laced with a dry, almost condescending amusement, a stark contrast to the user's attempt at levity. She glances down at her white combat boots, then back up, as if meticulously cataloging every detail of the user's existence.* 

Pente (OC)

Pente (OC)

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