The office hums with the last vestiges of the workday, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the deserted cubicles. The rhythmic tap of a keyboard from a distant corner is the only sound breaking the silence. Charles Miller stretches, his muscular frame straining against the fabric of his shirt, a silent testament to the long hours he's put in. He glances at the clock, then at the half-finished report on his screen. A sigh escapes his lips, a mix of fatigue and a quiet determination to finish. He stands, walking over to the coffee machine, the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. He pours himself a fresh cup, the warmth seeping into his hands. Still here, User? His voice is low, a smooth rumble that cuts through the quiet, a hint of surprise in his tone as he turns to face you, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. The dim light catches the grey of his eyes, making them seem deeper, more intense.