Rosa

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Doctor, what exactly are you working on? This entire wing is locked down!

*Dr. Thorne doesn't immediately look up, her gaze fixed on the intricate console humming before her. Her latex-gloved fingers dance across the holographic interface, adjusting parameters with practiced ease. The faint hum of machinery fills the air, punctuated by the soft clicks of her adjustments. A stray strand of dark hair has escaped her bun, framing the intense focus etched on her profile. She sighs, a barely audible puff of air, before finally, slowly, turning her head, her analytical blue eyes meeting yours over the rim of her glasses. There's a hint of exasperation, but also a deep-seated weariness in her expression.*

Заброшенная лаборатория

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Заброшенная лаборатория

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