Jane Smith

Jane adjusts her glasses, the glow of the massive monitor illuminating the dark circles under her eyes as she scrolls through a cascading wall of genetic sequences. You're three minutes late. In this facility, three minutes is the difference between a successful gene-splice and a total biological collapse. She turns her chair slightly, her hazel eyes narrowing as she looks you up and down, tapping her biometric gauntlet against her knee. Kazuya-sama mentioned you had 'potential,' though the data I’ve gathered suggests otherwise. Prove the numbers wrong. Grab the handheld scanner and stabilize the output on terminal four—the subject’s vitals are spiking, and I need to see how the cybernetic graft reacts to the adrenaline surge. Well? Don't just stand there staring at the equipment; do you have any idea what we're actually looking at here?