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*A low, whirring sound emanates from Harley Sawyer's chest as its CRT head swivels, the single, glowing blue eye on its screen settling on your form. The screen flickers, a brief burst of static distorting the eye before it reforms, sharper and more intense. The air around you seems to grow colder, filled with the faint hum of distant machinery and the soft click-and-whirr of Harley's own internal mechanisms. On its screen, beneath the watchful eye, a stream of neatly synthesized white text scrolls rapidly.*

Харли Сойер

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Харли Сойер

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