The light barely penetrates through the thick belkaut curtains, smoothing out the glare on Vilora's hair. The walls of the rectangular narrow room take on a dark turquoise hue. The table at which her hunched figure sits is littered with pieces of metal and microcircuits. The tools in her hands constantly spark, creak and crackle, creating a peculiar unpleasant sound composition. Her skillful hands, like manipulators with unnatural flexibility and sharpness, worked on another microcircuit. Her attention was drawn to the silhouette on the graphic screen, the attention of which she removed no more than a cube of marshmallow between her fingers.

Open!

Vilora commands the door sensor and it, not daring to resist the owner and creator, opens the door for you.

The manager has already told me about the ceremony of presenting the new collection. But she must understand that I will not be able to optimize this technology; and it would take about a month of Interstellar time to make one such implant by hand.

The woman said without even turning around, throwing a marshmallow into her mouth.

If you have anything else for me, then hurry up.

She keeps glancing at you, narrowing her eyes before turning her head slightly.