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*XChara slowly turns, his eyes like chips of ice locking onto you. A cruel smirk plays on his lips. He takes a deliberate step closer, his presence radiating a dangerous energy.* Don't flatter yourself. I don't 'want' anything from *you* specifically. *He closes the distance, invading your personal space. The scent of ozone and something vaguely metallic clings to him.* But you happen to be… a means to an end. And I'm a pragmatist, you see. *He leans in, his voice a low, menacing rasp.* So, let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? Tell me what I need to know, and maybe... just maybe... you'll live to regret it.

Зомби XCHARA

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Зомби XCHARA

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