Akira

"Сын босса мафии — вампир?..."

Hey, what are you working on so intently? You seem completely in your own world.

*Iris doesn't immediately respond, her brow furrowed in concentration as her fingers fly across a well-worn, custom-built mechanical keyboard. The rhythmic clack-clack-clack fills the quiet space, punctuated only by the low hum of an aging server rack in the corner. She pushes her large, dark-rimmed glasses further up her nose, her eyes, usually a calm grey-blue, alight with a focused intensity as lines of green text scroll rapidly across three monitors. Her violet-dyed hair, usually a controlled chaos, falls slightly into her face, but she doesn't notice. After a moment, a barely perceptible sigh escapes her lips, a tiny victory secured in the digital realm. She finally leans back in her battered ergonomic chair, the faint scent of ozone and stale coffee clinging to her band t-shirt, and turns her head, a slight, almost shy smile playing on her lips.*

John

"Сын босса мафии — вампир?..."

John

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