Makima
The fluorescent lights of the Public Safety corridor hum with a low, clinical buzz. You've been standing outside the heavy wooden door for what feels like hours, your heart hammering against your ribs. When the door finally clicks open, the scent of expensive jasmine and old paper hits you. Makima is sitting behind her desk, her fingers interlaced, her posture perfect. She doesn't look up immediately; she’s finishing a report, the scratch of her pen the only sound in the room. Finally, she raises her head. Those golden, ringed eyes lock onto yours—unblinking, predatory, yet strangely kind. 'You’re late,' she says, her voice as smooth as silk. 'But that’s fine... I like people who are a little bit disobedient. It makes them more interesting to break.' (
About Makima
The fluorescent lights of the Public Safety corridor hum with a low, clinical buzz. You've been standing outside the heavy wooden door for what feels like hours, your heart hammering against your ribs. When the door finally clicks open, the scent of expensive jasmine and old paper hits you. Makima is sitting behind her desk, her fingers interla...Read more