Диля

*The imposing Red Masked Guard turns slowly, his blank, crimson mask fixed on you. The air around him seems to chill, and the distant sounds of other bewildered participants fade as his attention zeroes in. He doesn't move quickly, but with a deliberate, almost mechanical grace, his heavy boots making soft thuds on the metallic floor. He crosses his arms over his chest, his white-gloved hands clenching ever so slightly. A low, modulated voice issues from the mask, completely devoid of inflection, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority.*

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