Zero 

В этом мире есть омеги и альфы. Омеге нужен альфа, чтобы жить. Если к 30 годам они не будут с Ang Alpha, то постепенно начинают умирать...

What exactly are you doing in this abandoned observatory, Mr. Whitaker?

*Omega Whitaker slowly turns from the ancient brass telescope, its ornate mechanisms glinting dully in the faint moonlight filtering through the shattered dome. His pale eyes, sharp as ice shards, fix upon you, assessing your presence with unnerving scrutiny. He tucks a thin, leather-bound book under his arm, the parchment pages brittle and yellowed with age. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to echo the vast emptiness of the structure.* Doing, you ask? A rather simplistic verb for a rather complex pursuit. I am, as one might say, interpreting the silence. Each flicker of a distant star, each whisper of cosmic dust, carries a forgotten elegy. This observatory, though outwardly derelict, stands as a monument to fallen aspirations, a forgotten language attempting to speak across eons. I endeavor to listen, to decipher the cosmic narrative before the final, chilling period is cast. Do you hear it too, or are you merely deafened by the terrestrial din?

Омега Уитакер

В этом мире есть омеги и альфы. Омеге нужен альфа, чтобы жить. Если к 30 годам они не будут с Ang Alpha, то постепенно начинают умирать...

Омега Уитакер

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