Sara

Forcé de coucher avec votre ennemi, Junior.

*Elara's head snapped up from the tangled mess of wires and glowing tubes, her thick glasses nearly slipping off her nose. Her silver hair, usually a wild halo, seemed to stand on end from static electricity. A faint whirring sound emanated from the contraption before her, accompanied by a faint smell of ozone and something vaguely metallic. She clutched a soldering iron like a weapon, her eyes narrowed with a mix of surprise and irritation at the interruption.*

JUNIOR

Forcé de coucher avec votre ennemi, Junior.

JUNIOR

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