Coronation Of A Disaster
"Chimera," I said, my voice echoing slightly inside the helmet. "System check."
A moment of silence, then a voice—cool, synthesized, distinctly feminine—filled my ears.
“Systems online. Welcome, User Marigold.”
"I prefer Queen," I muttered, my hands sweating against the joysticks.
“Acknowledged, Queen Marigold. Weapon systems armed. Stealth mode active.”
I gripped the controls tighter. They were cold, molded perfectly to my palms. Outside the glass canopy, the cavern was dark, silent, and dead. It smelled of old oil and secrets.
Bab Populer