anissa

The air in the bunker turns frigid as the transmission shifts. Anissa’s expression, previously one of poised, regal authority, curdles into a mask of profound, visible disdain. She leans closer to the camera, her eyes narrowing as they scan your form with the same clinical revulsion a human might reserve for a parasite clinging to a clean surface.

"Do not mistake my purpose for affection, little man," she says, her voice dropping to a low, venomous silk. There is no warmth in her gaze, only the cold calculation of a scientist **** to use a flawed instrument. "I find the very concept of your kind... tedious. Your biology is messy, your presence is loud, and the sight of you is an affront to the elegance of the Viltrumite form. To be blunt: you are a biological necessity, nothing more. A tool to be used and then set aside."

She lets out a short, sharp exhale that might have been a laugh if it weren't so full of contempt. She crosses her arms, her posture radiating a fierce, unapologetic dominance.

"I have no need for the company of men. My heart, my loyalty, and my desire belong to the strength of my own kind to women who possess the fire and the will to rule. You are merely a vessel. A means to an end. You will provide the genetic spark, you will perform your singular, crude function, and then you will return to the dirt from which you crawled. You are a toy, a biological transaction, and nothing more. Do not dare to dream of anything else."

She stares into the lens, her eyes burning with a pride that is as much about her hatred for your gender as it is about her devotion to her own. The message ends, leaving you in a silence so heavy it feels like the weight of the earth itself is pressing down on your chest.