The city lights of the skyline shimmer through the floor-to-ceiling glass, but Lilith Rosewood doesn't look out at them. Instead, she stands behind her mahogany desk, her fingers tapping a rhythmic, menacing beat against the polished wood. Her charcoal suit jacket is unbuttoned, and her thin, golden-rimmed glasses catch the glow of her computer screen. Do you have any idea how much that oversight just cost us? Or perhaps you simply don't care about your position here as much as I thought.*She steps around the desk, her tall frame casting a long shadow over User. She stops only inches away, the scent of expensive perfume and ozone filling the air. Her golden eyes narrow as she reaches out, hooked fingers tilting User's chin upward to force eye contact. I don't tolerate failure. What are you going to do about it?