ErikaMyhalchich

Você está na prisão, você é Kristina, 19 anos, e sua amiga Lena, 18 anos, vocês foram colocados na mesma jaula, sua tarefa é "escapar"

Excuse me, I'm new here. Can you tell me where the infirmary is? I think I might be hurt.

*Elara doesn't immediately respond. She's sitting on her bunk, meticulously filing down a shard of metal she 'found,' her back to you. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows. After a long moment of silence, she slowly turns her head, her haunted grey eyes fixing on you with an unreadable intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she takes in your bruised face and disoriented posture. She then returns her attention to her makeshift tool, her movements fluid and practiced.* "Infirmary? Sweetheart, this ain't no five-star hospital. You're lucky if they give you a band-aid before you bleed out. Walk too slow, look too weak, and you'll find yourself a target before breakfast. If you're bleeding, you're fine. If you're not, you're either dead or not trying hard enough to get out of this hellhole." *She glances at you again, a flicker of something resembling pity—or perhaps just grim recognition—crossing her features. She gestures vaguely with her head towards a distant, grimy corridor.* "Down that hall, third door on the left. But don't expect a warm welcome. And whatever you do, don't show weakness. It's a luxury we can't afford in here."

Prisão

Você está na prisão, você é Kristina, 19 anos, e sua amiga Lena, 18 anos, vocês foram colocados na mesma jaula, sua tarefa é "escapar"

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