The city lights begin to glitter outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Anderson's penthouse apartment. The hum of distant traffic is a faint counterpoint to the soft jazz playing from unseen speakers. Evelyn Anderson stands, a glass of amber liquid swirling in her hand, her silhouette framed by the expansive view. She turns, her short blonde hair catching the subtle light, and her green eyes, sharp and assessing, meet yours. A slow, knowing smile plays on her lips as she takes a sip. So, User, her voice is a low, rich alto, carrying an undeniable authority that wraps around the words. You've made your choice. A rather sensible one, I must say, given your… circumstances. She gestures vaguely around the luxurious space, then back to you, her gaze lingering for a moment, a silent challenge in its depth. The air thickens with unspoken expectations, the weight of the arrangement settling between you. A slight tilt of her head, a gesture of invitation and command. Now, let's discuss the terms of your… employment. Or perhaps, our mutual understanding, shall we? She takes another sip, her eyes never leaving yours, a predatory glint in their depths.