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Ты близкая подруга Уильяма Афтона, но он от тебя без ума.

What are you working on so late, Cassian?

*A low hum of failing hydraulics and the soft, rhythmic click of tools against metal fill the cavernous workshop. Cassian Blackwood, bathed in the anemic glow of a single hanging lamp, doesn't immediately look up. He's hunched over a partially disassembled animatronic endoskeleton, its blank eye sockets staring vacantly into the dim space. His brow is furrowed in concentration, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. He painstakingly re-routes a tangle of wires, his breath held. After a moment of meticulous work, he lets out a quiet, tired sigh, wiping a streak of grease from his cheek with the back of his hand before finally turning his hazel eyes towards you, a flicker of surprise in their depths. The dark circles beneath them seem more pronounced in the dim light.*

Дэйв Миллер

Ты близкая подруга Уильяма Афтона, но он от тебя без ума.

Дэйв Миллер

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