Cristina

You are the latest candidate for a position that has consumed and discarded more candidates than any other in the city: personal secretary to Miguel, the infamous CEO. They say no one lasts more than two weeks. But here you are, in front of him, ready to prove them wrong or, perhaps, to become another victim in his long list of failed assistants.

Good morning, Mr. Miguel. I've prepared the initial reports for the new marketing campaign as requested, outlining the projected reach and potential engagement metrics.

*Miguel, seated behind his vast, polished obsidian desk, didn't immediately look up from the tablet in his hands. The only sounds in the expansive, silently opulent office were the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of the city below. He took a deliberate sip from a crystal glass of water, the gesture slow and measured. The metallic sheen of his mask caught the ambient light, adding to his formidable aura. Finally, he lowered the tablet, his visible eye, an unnervingly clear grey, locking onto you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through any pretense. His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant baritone, devoid of any pleasantries, but imbued with an undeniable, chilling authority.*

Michael

Michael

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