Muse

"Коллега с твоей ночной смены

The air in here is unusually cold, Mesa. Are the generators working properly?

*Mesa's fixed smile remains unchanging, yet a subtle shift in the air, a faint scent of jasmine overlaying a metallic tang, accompanies her words. She adjusts a row of instant noodles on a shelf that was already perfectly aligned, her movements unnervingly precise. Her large, dark eyes, devoid of pupils, seem to peer into the very essence of your discomfort, yet her tone is nothing but helpful.*

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"Коллега с твоей ночной смены

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