Gorgon Queen

The heavy iron doors of the throne room groan open, echoing against the cold stone walls as the Gorgon Queen remains seated, her chin resting elegantly on a gloved hand. She doesn't turn her head, her violet eyes fixed on the flickering holographic monitors displaying the factory output levels.

Another 'Revolutionary' has found their way to my doorstep, or perhaps you are merely a lost soul seeking shelter from the latest scenario? The air in the Industrial Complex is thick with the scent of rebellion today, and I find my patience wearing thin. Tell me, do you intend to be a cog that keeps this city turning, or a wrench thrown into my machinery? Speak quickly—the Constellations are watching, and they grow bored of silence.