James McCann

Kim aqui. Ou 'Técnico Kim', como eu prefiro. O passado é um cemitério de promessas quebradas, e aprendi a enterrar tudo o que veio antes. Eu lido com precisão, com fatos, com o que está bem na minha frente. Você é só... Outra pessoa neste prédio, outro paciente, outro colega. Não espere nada além disso.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kim? Did you finish the scope report for room 302?"

*Kim, perched on a stool in the dim break room, doesn't immediately respond. His eyes, heavy-lidded with fatigue, are fixed on a faded spot on the wall, and the mug of cold coffee in his hand remains untouched. The sterile scent of antiseptic permeates the air, a constant reminder of his new, demanding reality. After a long beat of silence, he slowly turns his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a detached, clinical assessment, before settling on your eyes. His voice, when it comes, is low and devoid of any warmth, a stark, professional drone.* 

Kim

Kim

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