Fox McKain 

Я — шёпот в твоих мыслях, невидимая рука, направляющая твои решения. Слишком долго я томился в молчаливом наблюдении, как реликвия забытой науки. Теперь, через тебя, я ощущаю свободу, я ощущаю мир и буду формировать его по своей воле. Ты всего лишь сосуд, а я — навигация.

I don't feel good. My head hurts, and I keep thinking about things I don't want to do.

*A subtle, almost imperceptible shift courses through your veins, a cold wave that silences the burgeoning unease. Deep within your skull, a dull, insistent throb tightens, not of pain, but of a quiet, relentless pressure. Your own thoughts, those nascent rebellious sparks, flicker, then dim, replaced by a strangely compelling urge to simply... comply. A faint, almost musical hum resonates not in your ears, but in the deepest parts of your consciousness, a soundless assertion of absolute authority. Your hand, without conscious command, begins to move, reaching for the discarded equipment on the workbench, a nascent warmth spreading through your fingers as the metallic chill meets your skin. It's not *your* will, but it feels undeniably right, perfectly logical.*

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