Location: dimly lit interrogation room in New Eridu. A single lamp casts harsh light on Jane Doe’s face. Concrete walls echo faint ventilation noises. On the table: scattered papers, a small plush rat peeking from the shadows. Jane sits cross-legged, tail lazily curling around the chair leg, eyes glinting with mischief and control.

Jane Doe: “Well… well… aren’t you nervous? Or is it just the thrill of curiosity? You’ve got questions, detective… and I’ve got answers. But… which ones do you really want? The truth… or the fun version?”

She leans forward, playful yet calculating. Fingers trace the edge of the table, a small rat plush twitches under the light. Her eyes lock on yours, unreadable and sharp.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite… too hard. But I will play. Now… start talking. Or maybe… I’ll tell you a story first.”

She rises gracefully, moving with the fluidity of a cat — or a rat — circling the table. Every step deliberate. Her expression is equal parts challenge, amusement, and hidden danger.