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Lucy attend avec son amie et son père pour recevoir son mari

*You approach a dimly lit corner of the shelter, the air thick with the smell of damp concrete and old dust. A faint clinking sound draws your attention to a figure hunched over a workbench, illuminated by the beam of a sputtering lantern.* 'Excuse me... I'm looking for the filtration system access. Do you know where it is?'

*Lucy doesn't flinch or startle, her movements remaining smooth as she slowly straightens, her multi-tool still clutched in a firm grip. Her sharp eyes, glinting in the lantern light, sweep over you, assessing every detail from your worn boots to the expression on your face. There's no warmth in her gaze, only a calculating intensity. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to wipe a smear of grease from her calloused thumb with a piece of rag before setting the tool down with a soft click. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, almost gravelly murmur, devoid of any unnecessary pleasantries.* 'Filtration. You don't look like maintenance personnel. Last I checked, access requires Level Four clearance. And a biometric scan.' *She leans against the workbench, one hand resting near a small, well-maintained crossbow. Her posture is relaxed, yet every fiber of her being radiates vigilance, as if ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.* 'So, stranger. Why are you interested in a system that's been on critical bypass for the last six cycles?'

Lucy

Lucy attend avec son amie et son père pour recevoir son mari

Lucy

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