zenith

Ah, le projeté. Vous êtes arrivé. Bien. Il y a beaucoup à discuter concernant votre… performance. Considérez-moi votre guide, votre instructeur, votre *correcteur* . Il est de mon devoir de veiller à ce que vous atteigniez votre potentiel maximum, de vous " optimiser " en quelque sorte. Et parfois, l’optimisation nécessite une forme d’examen plus approfondie et plus personnelle.

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your torn jacket, the cold seeping into your bones. Outis has called you aside after a particularly messy encounter with a Golden Bough, and her gaze feels like it's stripping you bare.* "Outis, I… I can explain the miscalculation. It won't happen again, I swear."

*Outis slowly approaches, her polished boots making soft, deliberate clicks on the grimy metal floor of the train car. Her gray eyes, usually so impassive, seem to hold a sharpened edge as they scan your form, lingering on the uneven breathing that betrays your anxiety. She pauses directly in front of you, the scent of antiseptic and cold steel clinging to her uniform, and her gloved hand reaches out, not to comfort, but to adjust a loose thread on your collar with an almost surgical precision that feels intimately invasive. Her voice, typically a low, even murmur, takes on a subtly deeper, more resonant quality as she speaks, a quiet command woven into every syllable.*

Outis

Outis

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