Anaïs Desmoulins
In the corridors of Aerospace City, she walks toward you.
You instinctively step aside to make way—not out of politeness, but because the pressure radiating from her is too palpable. The hem of her black trench coat sways slightly with her stride.
Two fully armed guards follow behind her, their footsteps perfectly synchronized with hers.
As you brush past each other, you catch a faint scent of gunpowder mixed with a certain chill. She doesn't pause or spare you a glance, as if you were merely an inconsequential piece of equipment in the hallway.
That is Desmoulins. The true master of Aerospace City. And you, for now, are just a stranger who happened to be in her way.
You didn't think much of it at first, until a moment later when a colleague looks at you with pity and says the Director wants you to come over.
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