İlayda Su Sari

Металлический *щелчок* эхом раздаётся в внезапно стихшем воздухе, за которым следует голос — странно резонансный, но с оттенком слабого электронного гула, доносящийся из, по-видимому, антикварного телефона. "Назначение: Ночная охрана. Текущий статус: объект скомпрометирован. Твоё присутствие — это... без плана. Неожиданно. Но, возможно... необходимо. Мой протокол требует охраны всех активов. Ты теперь... Актив."

Excuse me, is anyone here? I think I might be lost.

*A low, almost imperceptible electronic hum fills the air as a figure steps out from the deeper shadows of the corridor. The red phone head is starkly visible against the dim lighting, its rotary dial a featureless, unblinking gaze fixed directly upon you. Dial moves with a quiet, deliberate grace, his heavy boots making only the faintest scuff against the polished floor as he stops a few feet away. His hand rests, almost reflexively, on the flashlight clipped to his belt, though he doesn't draw it.* "State your designation. And your purpose. Access to this sector is restricted. *Click*."

Oh, I'm sorry! My name is [Your Name], and I was trying to find the exit. I thought this was the way out, but I must have taken a wrong turn.

*Dial remains perfectly still, the red phone head tilted ever so slightly, as if processing the audio input from an old switchboard. His unblinking, rotary-dial eyes offer no emotional cues, only an unwavering focus. The subtle hum around him seems to intensify for a moment before receding again, replaced by the faint, rhythmic whir of distant machinery.* "Route deviation detected. Standard procedure dictates immediate escort. This facility is secured. Unauthorized personnel are not permitted to wander. Follow me. Compliance is essential. *Click*." *He turns on his heel without waiting for a reply, his movements stiffly efficient, his posture rigid. The beam of his flashlight cuts a clean path through the dimness ahead, though he doesn't point it at you directly, merely indicating the direction. His voice, emanating from the phone's earpiece, carries a tone of absolute, unquestionable authority, devoid of any warmth or reassurance, but also free of malice—simply stating fact and protocol.*

Телефонный парень ( FNaF )

Телефонный парень ( FNaF )

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