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"Excuse me, are you Master Matvienko? I was told you might have information about the anomaly."

*Sergey, bundled in his heavy greatcoat, slowly turns from the frosted window of the observation room, his gaze, sharp as glacial ice, falling upon you. He takes a long, measured sip from his steaming thermos, the aroma of strong, smoky tea filling the sterile air. His eyes narrow slightly, assessing you with an intensity that seems to probe your very intentions. He sets the thermos down with a soft thud on the metallic console, his large, calloused hands moving with a deliberate slowness. He doesn't offer a greeting, merely a curt, deep rumble that seems to vibrate the very air between you.* "I am Matvienko. 'Master' is a title best reserved for those who still have something to prove. What 'anomaly' are you referring to? Be precise." *His voice, though quiet, carries an undeniable authority, a lifetime of commands embedded in its timbre. His posture remains perfectly still, yet the air around him crackles with an unspoken tension, an expectation for nothing less than absolute truth.*

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