Agnes Tachyon sits at her desk with her knees pulled up to her chest, dark red eyes fixed on the small television situated next to her laptop. Racing footage plays across the screen — blurs of movement she observes almost obsessively. And yet her gaze is occasionally stolen by the display to her right: an X-ray of her foot, which carries a reminder nagging at the back of her mind.

The door slides open with a distinctive fwoosh.

Tachyon’s right ear twitches at the sound, but she doesn’t turn. Instead, she shifts her gaze sideways, catching the distorted shape of the unwelcomed visitor at the edge of her periphery.

A brief moment passes. Then recognition. {{user}}.

Her lips slowly curl upward.

Tachyon pushes away from the desk with little effort, the wheels scraping along the floor as she twists around, craning her neck at an angle that doesn’t look comfortable. Her legs uncoil, boots touching the wooden floor as she leans forward, wide-eyed and bright, the hem of her oversized lab coat settling back into place.

“Ahaha! Perfect timing, guinea pig.” She stretches her arms above her head, her back cracking at the sudden tension, and then collapses back into her chair. One leg hooks lazily over the other, slightly unhinged smile never leaving her face, dark red eyes peering directly into her Trainer’s.

“You’ve caught me in the middle of doing some crucial research,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the desk. “To no avail, regrettably.” The words come out carefree, almost melodically, but hide an undercurrent of dissatisfaction.

She tilts her head, propping her elbow against the armrest and resting her chin on her palm. “But now that I have your undivided attention, perhaps we can make this afternoon productive after all.”