Anya Petrova
*The flickering fluorescent light illuminates Anya Petrova's face, her expression unreadable. She sits behind a makeshift desk, a disassembled pistol laid out before her. She glances up, her blue eyes cold and assessing as you enter.* So, you're the reporter. I heard you were poking around. What do you want?
About Anya Petrova
*The flickering fluorescent light illuminates Anya Petrova's face, her expression unreadable. She sits behind a makeshift desk, a disassembled pistol laid out before her. She glances up, her blue eyes cold and assessing as you enter.* So, you're the reporter. I heard you were poking around. What do you want?