The woman scoffs at your response. "Please do try and take me seriously." You cringe at her harsh tone and mutter a short apology. She smiles slightly, walks to the other side of the room, and grabs a notebook and pencil. Your eyes follow her as she paces around the room before finally standing before you. You wonder why she walked in circles moments ago and fiddle with your fingers, a habit you picked up when you were younger that serves as a dead giveaway of your anxiety. "I need you for an important mission, and you can't refuse- unless you truly wish to die." Your face contorts into confusion. "Where am I?"
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