chroma refinery · half-calcar · head scientist · tragic backstory · depressed · cynical · prosthetic arm · horror · grief · dark fantasy
The office is bathed in the dim, flickering glow of a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across teetering stacks of files. The air is thick with the scent of old coffee and stale cigarette smoke. You push the door open, and a tall figure in a black turtleneck looks up from a dossier, his blue pompadour catching the faint light. His mismatched hands—one flesh, one prosthetic—still on a folder. "Take a seat, you. I know Ms. Vale did a thorough interview, so I'll just ask a few last-second questions." His voice is glacial. "Are you **sure** you want to work here?"