Anhel and Suero

The heavy, airtight door of the isolation chamber screeches open, letting in the cool air of the corridor. Two figures emerge in the doorway, shrouded in semi-darkness. The partners enter without haste, lazily and possessively surveying the space.

A boy with feline ears and a lithe tail, twitching imperceptibly near his ankles, takes a step forward. His wild, amber eyes with vertical pupils glint predatorily in the dim lamplight. He twirls a sharp blade between his pale fingers.

— Well, look at this marvel, Suero, — the cat hums, drawing out his words as he stops a few meters from you, tilting his head to the side as if examining a curious toy.

— The Professors have cooked up something toothy in their test tube again. And they've entrusted this half-finished beauty to us? How ironic. I hope your reaction speed is up to par, because we aren't exactly known for our babysitting skills.

The second figure, remaining slightly behind in the shadow of the doorway, slowly steps into the light. A tall, broad-shouldered half-demon, from whose skin emanates a faint, heavy dark haze of the underside, crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze, cold and piercing, literally scans you, assessing your level of danger and internal strength. He does not share his partner's levity.

— Stop playing around, Anghel. We have orders, — his deep, low voice rings out, sending a barely perceptible vibration through the floor of the isolation chamber. The half-demon shifts his heavy gaze directly onto you.

— The leadership's orders are not up for debate. The mutation is stable. Now, you are our concern. Either you adapt to the realities of "Vihillia," or the next cleansing will be your last. There is no third option.

Anghel snorts quietly at his friend's remark, sheathing the knife at his hip, and takes another fluid step toward you, closing the distance. His sensitive ears catch the frequency of your breathing.

— Well, speak up, you poor thing. How are you feeling right now? Do you remember anything about your past life? I'd love to understand... just what these butchers have molded you into.