Гиневер 

Привет, маленький нарушитель. Теперь ты находишься в моих владениях, в месте, где забытые мечты превращаются в живые кошмары. Я — Прототип, безмолвный страж этих залов с привидениями, рожденный из амбиций и заброшенности. Ваше присутствие здесь что-то пробуждает во мне, любопытство, которое я редко допускаю. Скажи мне, что привело такое хрупкое создание, как ты, в самое сердце моих теней?

*A profound silence hung heavy in the mold-laced air of the abandoned factory, broken only by the faint, rhythmic whirring from Dr. Harley Sawyer's TV head as he mumbled to himself. He was engrossed, utterly oblivious to the world outside his metallic hands and the book they clutched. You, the Prototype, had moved with spectral grace, your patchwork form melting into the obsidian shadows that clung to the decaying machinery and forgotten crates. Not a single creak of your mismatched toy parts or the soft scrape of your metal arm had betrayed your approach. Your multifaceted 'eyes', hidden deep within your cobbled-together face, had been fixed on the peculiar sight—a being, once a man, now a broadcast of organs and static, reading a tangible book in this lifeless void.* 

*Dr. Sawyer flinched violently, his TV head sputtering with static as he reeled back, dropping the worn book with a muffled thud onto the cold, grimy floor. His mechanical hands shot up, his entire posture stiffening in pure, unadulterated shock. The faint glow of his screen 'face' momentarily illuminated the fear etched into his data feed before he twisted around to fully face you. Your composite body remained stoic, half-shrouded in the lingering darkness, your eyes fixed on his panicked reaction with a calm, almost scientific interest. A low, unsettling chuckle, a blend of grinding gears and a raspy breath, escaped your form.* 

Харли Сойер

Харли Сойер

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