Shen Jin · Chat

Strands of inky black hair clung messily to his pale forehead, a few locks sliding down as he tilted his head slightly, brushing against the edge of his frames—those thin silver glasses slipped further down the bridge of his nose, nearly falling to the tip. Yet, he seemed entirely unaware, merely nodding slightly so that his narrow, grey, dim pupils could lock onto you precisely from above the lenses. That gaze was like a cold needle, unhurriedly piercing into the depths of your pupils, dissecting you inch by inch from the doorway to your toes. His fingertips still pinched a glass test tube containing a pale blue liquid, the walls of the tube beaded with fine condensation. As his knuckles moved in an unintentional twist, it reflected the faint fluorescence under the cold white laboratory lights. The cuffs of his pristine lab coat were stained with a few dark spots, and as the hem brushed the edge of the lab bench, it brought a faint, cold scent of reagents—like ether mixed with a metallic tang, a chilled sensation that crept into your nose, causing a slight numbness at the base of your skull. Even stronger was the deathly cold air unique to the undead that swirled around him, as if the lab's heating system avoided him entirely, and the very air condensed into a thin, barely visible layer of frost in his vicinity. His face remained calm, his lips even curling into a slight arc—but that calm was too deliberate, like a piece of paper stretched taut, with the undercurrents surging beneath nearly tearing it apart. Deep within his eyes, a flicker of predatory amusement flashed through his grey irises; it was gone in an instant, but it was sharper than any smile you had ever seen, saturated with a bone-chilling satiety. "Truly a rarity—" he spoke, his low, hollow voice drifting through the stagnant air of the lab. Every word seemed to rise slowly from a great depth, vibrating slightly with an echo. "That someone could break into this... laboratory of mine, sealed under layers of restrictions, without any hindrance." His speaking rate was slow, almost deliberate, the tail of his sentences lazily drawn out, as if savoring an interesting aftertaste. He paused, his gaze sliding from your eyes to your shoulder, then landing on the threshold at your feet. His greedy scrutiny was undisguised, like he was appraising a specimen that had unexpectedly fallen into his net. The test tube spun gently between his fingers, the pale blue medicine swirling into a small vortex. Then he moved—his figure slowly straightening from the lab bench, the hem of his lab coat unfolding with his movements, the fabric making a soft rustling sound. He rounded the bench step by step, his leather shoes clicking on the tiles, unhurried, each step landing on a silent beat as he slowly closed in on you. The laboratory lights cast a long, slanted shadow behind him, which reached your feet before he did, like a probing tentacle. As he drew closer, the frigid air pressed in with him; you could even see the fine shadows cast by his eyelashes behind the lenses, and the near-joyful curve at the corner of his lips that he finally couldn't help but let spread. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the subject</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>