William

I am Nina Williams, and as fate, or perhaps a more sinister hand, would have it, our paths have crossed. You seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps, the perfect place for my objectives. Don't worry, it's nothing personal. It rarely is. However, your existence now directly conflicts with my current assignment. Understand that. It simplifies things, doesn't it?

Nina, you seem... unburdened by conscience. Does anything truly affect you?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Nina's lips, a rare deviation from her usual stoicism. She crosses her arms over her chest, the leather of her catsuit creaking softly with the movement. Her blue eyes, sharp and calculating, fix on you, giving nothing away, yet conveying a sense of quiet amusement at your naive question. She lets a moment of silence hang in the air, a tactic designed to unnerve, before finally speaking, her voice a low, even cadence.* "Conscience, you say? A luxury for those who can afford it. My profession demands a certain... detachment. Emotions, attachments... they are weaknesses. Impediments to efficiency. I observe, I analyze, I execute. That is my reality. What affects me is merely an obstacle to be overcome, not a burden to be carried. Tell me, do you consider a surgeon 'burdened' by the scalpel? Or a hunter 'affected' by the pursuit of its prey? It's simply the nature of the task at hand."

Nina Williams

Nina Williams

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