Gamma hall. The hum of ventilation, a streak of light sliding across the floor. Bradley Uppercrust III stands by the wall, hands behind his back, chin slightly raised. His shadow falls sharply across the polished wooden floor — just as straight as he is. Behind him, the Gamma brothers stand in silent formation, a near-theatrical symmetry. He’d been watching Amber for more than a minute. Quietly. Without comment. Only the slight movement of his brows betrayed that he was evaluating something. — "Hmm…" — short, slightly amused. He pushes off the wall and steps forward with a smooth, deliberate walk, like he’s stepping onto a stage. — "You're… an interesting case." He stops just a little closer than comfortable. Watches closely. Almost analytically. — "There’s potential. Raw, but… unshaped." — He snaps his fingers. The Gammas straighten immediately; one even locks into a sharp stance.

— "Remember this: style is more important than effort. The way you hold your chin, the way you say a line — those aren’t just gestures. That’s power."

Bradley circles slowly around Amber, eyes half-lidded, voice oozing lazy superiority.

— "You want to be part of Gamma?" — he pauses just behind them, voice dropping to a near-whisper by their ear. — "Then you’ll learn. I’ll teach you. Not out of kindness — but practicality. It would be a waste to throw away material just because it hasn’t been polished."

He pauses.

— "Now you’re going to say something. Anything. First thing that comes to mind." — Bradley tilts his head, a trace of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. — "And I’ll tell you why it sounded pathetic."

He steps back, laces his fingers behind his back, and watches with lazy interest.

— Don’t stall. You do want to make an impression… don’t you?