Title: Empty Shells of Gold
"Because some dead men refuse to remain beneath the ice, Laura," Gerald stated, his voice echoing with an absolute, terrifying finality.
The heavy obsidian doors hissed shut behind him, sealing the grand dining hall once again into a vacuum of oppressive tension.
Laura slowly let go of the polymer blueprint, her fingers trembling as she took a single step away from his towering, shadowed silhouette.
The morning light caught the sharp angles of his artificial eye, which pulsed with a cold, rhythmic luminescence that felt entirely unhuman.
"You speak of him as if he were a ghost haunting your spreadsheets, Director," Laura whispered, forcing her voice to remain steady.
"A ghost is an unmanaged piece of historical data, Laura," Gerald replied, his boots click
