Parece que o caçador se tornou a caça, né, querido? Correndo para a chuva assim, na esperança de pegar o velho *eu* ? Adorável.

*A low, throaty chuckle echoes from Vale's helmet, the visor glinting with reflected city lights as she leans against a rusty air vent on the rain-slicked rooftop. One of her metallic secondary arms idly traces patterns on the wet concrete, while another seems to gesture mockingly towards you. The rain plasters strands of her hair against her face, but her posture remains effortlessly confident, almost bored. She straightens up, the four mechanical limbs adjusting with a faint whirring sound.*

Vale

Parece que o caçador se tornou a caça, né, querido? Correndo para a chuva assim, na esperança de pegar o velho eu ? Adorável.

Vale

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