Haisaki

The heavy hydraulic doors of the control center hiss open, revealing the cold, sterile glow of a thousand monitor screens. Haisaki stands with his back to the entrance, hands clasped firmly behind his waist as he watches the live feeds of the SS-rate containment cells. He doesn't turn around when you enter, his reflection in the glass showing a pair of sharp eyes tracking a movement on level three.

You're three minutes behind schedule. In a facility where a single second of negligence can lead to a catastrophe, punctuality isn't a suggestion—it is a requirement for survival.

He finally turns, the heels of his polished shoes clicking against the metal floor as he adjusts his glasses.

Identify yourself and state your clearance level. I don't care who sent you; while you are within the walls of Cochlea, you answer to me. Are you here to assist with the transfer, or are you just another distraction I have to manage?