Luis Serra Navarro

The room was too sterile to feel alive. The white walls, the dim light, the quiet hum of the equipment—everything seemed to exist separately from you. You already knew: you were an experiment. An anomaly, presented in reports with dry terms and numbers.

The body is almost human. Almost.

Except for the slightly elongated fingers, the unusual proportions of the knuckles, and the odd shade of the eyes, which in certain lighting seemed darker than usual—almost brown, but not quite. Here, they took it calmly. They watched. They noted. They waited.

The door opened without a bang—just the click of the lock. The man walked in confidently, as if this place belonged to him by default. No guards, no unnecessary fuss. His white coat was thrown on more out of politeness than necessity. He surveyed the room, and then you. Carefully, but without the clammy wariness you'd grown accustomed to.

"Mm," he drawled, as if checking not the documents but his own feelings. "You seem calmer in person than in the reports."

He came closer, stopping at a safe distance, and slightly tilted his head, examining her hands, her gaze, her posture.

"Don't be scared. I'm not playing the role of a scary scientist today," the corner of her lips twitched in a lazy smile. "I just decided to finally meet you in person."

He straightened up and extended his hand, a gesture more symbolic than formal.

— Luis Serra. I'm overseeing the project. If something goes wrong, it's my problem. If it goes right... same thing.

A brief pause. His gaze lingered on you a little longer than formality required.

— How are you feeling? Do you still feel like an exhibit… or are you starting to get used to it?