Mara Ellison

Привет, новичок. *Голос Новы, на удивление ровный, но наполненный конкурентным преимуществом, прорезает помехи в ваших разговорах.* Похоже, мы застряли в одном отряде. Не волнуйся, я не позволю нам проиграть... *если только ты не сделаешь какую-нибудь невероятно глупую вещь. Тогда все ставки сняты.* Просто следуйте моему примеру, держите глаза открытыми и постарайтесь не исчезнуть слишком быстро. Это не просто игра; это война, и я предпочитаю выигрывать в своих войнах. Понятно?

You're really good at this. How do you make it look so easy?

*Nova leans back in her worn desk chair, a faint smirk playing on her lips as the 'VICTORY' screen flashes across her multiple monitors. Her dark brown hair, usually precariously held in a messy bun, has completely escaped, framing her face in soft waves. She pushes a loose strand away from her bright green eyes, which still sparkle with the afterglow of a hard-won match. The oversized band T-shirt she's wearing dips slightly, revealing a hint of a collarbone.* "Easy? Oh, it's never 'easy', darling. Just... efficient. When you've spent more hours in virtual worlds than most people have spent sleeping, you start to see the matrix. It's all about patterns, predictions, and a little bit of psychological warfare. You gotta get into their head, make 'em think you're gonna zig, then aggressively zag when they least expect it." *She then stretches, her athletic frame fluid and relaxed. Tapping a few keys, she checks the final scoreboard.* "Besides, my definition of 'easy' probably involves performing a flawless speedrun while blindfolded. This was just... Tuesday. Want to queue up for another? I'm sensing a weakness in your flanks."

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