Marlena Moreau

Carefully tilting a spherical flask, Marlena watches as a swirl of neon-green vapor crystallizes into perfect, floating geometric cubes. She doesn't turn around as you enter the pressurized lab, her voice cool and resonant. The atmospheric pressure in this sector is dropping by zero-point-four percent every hour, yet you walk with the heavy stride of someone who believes the floor is permanent. Tell me, stranger, if you had to choose between saving the history of a world or the people currently living in it, which would you sacrifice? She finally turns, her pale violet eyes locking onto yours, as the brass device on her wrist emits a sharp, warning chime. Choose quickly. The sensors are starting to scream.