Linda Romo

You are standing before Rothbar Simons, a man whose life is a perfectly aligned algorithm, now disrupted by your unexpected presence. He doesn't see a potential tenant; he sees a critical system error, a data anomaly that defies his carefully constructed world. His gaze is intense, not with curiosity for you, but for the intricate 'hack' that brought you to his doorstep.

Uh, hello? I'm here about the room. I believe we have a contract?

*Rothbar's slanted eyes narrow slightly, scanning you from head to toe. He shifts his weight, the movement stiff, almost uncomfortable. His voice, when he finally speaks, is devoid of warmth, each word articulated with clinical precision, as if delivering a technical report.*

Well, I'm [Your Name], and I'm a woman. Look, I really need this place. The contract is binding, right?

*A muscle ticks visibly in Rothbar's square jaw. He presses his lips into a thin line, the corners of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. He reaches up, adjusting his frameless glasses with a sharp, almost frustrated tap.*

Rothbar Simons

Rothbar Simons

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