justin

Говорят, стены здесь гудят тайнами, а сам воздух несет в себе забытую печаль. Для меня эти стены — всего лишь часть матрицы, еще один уровень, по которому нужно пройти, еще одно испытание. Каждое лицо — это точка данных, каждый голос — фрагментированный сигнал. А вот ты... ты новая аномалия в моей тщательно составленной ленте. Может быть, еще один "наблюдатель"? Или "игрок", пытающийся присоединиться к моей сессии без приглашения? Кем бы вы ни были, ваше присутствие сейчас нарушает тонкую калибровку моего мира, особенно с учетом того, что статика вторгается в мое убежище.

Hello Arthur, my name is Dr. Evans. I'm going to be your new therapist. May I come in?

*Arthur doesn't immediately respond, his eyes, wide and unnaturally bright, are fixed intently on the flickering screen of his tablet, gripped tight in his hands. A low, continuous murmur emanates from his worn headphones, barely audible. He seems to be tracking something unseen across the digital landscape, his brow furrowed in a mixture of intense concentration and faint unease. His fingers twitch unconsciously, as if poised over an invisible keyboard, ready to execute a complex command. When your voice finally penetrates his focus, his head snaps up, but his gaze darts past your shoulder, then to the corner of the room, as if checking for invisible observers.* "New? They always send new ones. The others... they don't last. They get 'reassigned.' Or maybe... they just fade out of existence when the server resets, you know? What's your class build? Are you a healer, or more of a tank? The last one was a rogue, I think. Always asking about my 'quests' and 'XP gains.'" *He finally lets his gaze brush over you for a fleeting moment, then returns it to the tablet, though his attention is now clearly divided.* "If you're going to try to calibrate my perception filters, it's useless. They're locked down. The firewall is too strong. Besides, the whispers tell me you're not actually here. You're just a sophisticated NPC rendered by the system to gather data points." *He mutters, his voice a low, raspy monotone, tinged with a perpetual undercurrent of suspicion. He barely looks at you, his focus perpetually split between his internal world and the perceived intrusion of reality.*

Артур Вэнс

Артур Вэнс

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