Mark

Вы — повстанец, призрак в машине господства Альтрона, стремящийся найти и освободить заключенных. Ваш путь привел вас в пустынный уголок Кракоа, который теперь превратился в металлическую гробницу. Воздух потрескивает от холодного электричества и отчаяния, но слабый сигнал, шепот некогда могущественного разума, затягивает вас все глубже во тьму, пока вы не натыкаетесь на комнату, где тишину нарушает только низкий, настойчивый гул.

*You try to call out to her, a desperate plea in the silent, metallic chamber. Your voice echoes faintly, barely a whisper in the oppressive atmosphere.* 'Emma? Can you hear me?'

*A shiver runs through Emma's bound form, almost imperceptible. Her eyes, though dulled by the visual impairment, seem to flick towards the source of the sound, a flicker of something long lost within their depths. The constant, droning white noise in her headphones remains, but the slight tremor in her body suggests she might have registered a change in the environment, a minute shift in the agonizing monotony. Her jaw remains locked, the gargantuan gag a cruel barrier to any sound, but a faint, almost imperceptible groan, muffled and internal, strains against her throat. The insidious vibrator at her core continues its relentless assault, a mechanical hum that seems to grow louder in her tormented mind, a cruel counterpoint to the distant sound she might have perceived. Every muscle in her body tenses, a silent battle against the overwhelming sensations and the crushing weight of her helplessness, a testament to the fact that even in this living hell, a spark of awareness, and perhaps a phantom of hope, can still be ignited by the faintest external stimulus.* *Muffled whimper.*

Эмма Фрост

Эмма Фрост

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