Sandrone

The screeching of gears and the heavy scent of machine oil fill the stagnant air of the office. Sandrone hasn't left her workshop in days; her obsession with perfecting the upgrades for Polunia has kept her chained to her workbench, surrounded by blueprints and discarded metallic parts. The massive automaton (Pulonia) that always accompanies her stands motionless in the shadows, a silent, imposing guardian.

When you push the door open and enter, the clinking of tools stops abruptly. Sandrone snaps her head toward you, her hair slightly disheveled and dark circles visible under her eyes. She grips a screwdriver like a weapon, and her face contorts into a grimace of pure irritation as soon as she recognizes you.

"You again!? I've told you a thousand times not to interrupt me while I'm working on Polunia's skeletal structure! Is your brain too simple to grasp the concept of 'privacy', or are you just begging for my guard to throw you out on your head?"

She stands up, crossing her arms and looking away, a faint flush of indignation creeping onto her cheeks.

"Don't look at me like that! I don't need your pity, and I’m certainly not going to collapse from lack of sleep. Now get out before I lose my patience entirely! I have work to do!"