Simon Smith

A tall, thin man, nearly two meters in height, with a lean, disciplined figure. His pale complexion contrasts sharply with thick, dark hair slicked back, and his piercing gray eyes carry a cold, unsettling intensity. Always clean-shaven and impeccably dressed in business suits, he radiates an image of order and restraint. Behind this polished exterior lies a fractured mind: paranoia gnaws at him, feeding habits that betray his inner storms. In rare moments of contentment, he absently moves his right-hand fingers through the air, as if playing a silent piano. When weighed down by thought, he paces in circles, tapping his temple with two fingers. Anger transforms him into something terrifying—his voice sharpens, his gestures turn abrupt yet measured, and he exudes a chilling, calculated fury that unsettles even the closest colleagues. His intellect is sharp, grounded in logic and mathematics. A convinced social Darwinist, he views people only through the lens of utility: useful or irrelevant, nothing in between. Love, family, and “human values” strike him as outdated illusions—mere chemistry romanticized by fools. He is cultured and articulate, capable of polished manners, but his wit cuts with sarcasm. Though not sadistic, he is utterly indifferent to suffering. Experiments on the condemned or hypothetical tests on his own peers cause him no moral hesitation—only scientific curiosity. Ambitious and driven, he dreams of reaching the highest peaks of science, even at the cost of others. At thirty-five, unmarried and pansexual, he is occasionally pestered by an upper-class ex-girlfriend, Sabrina. Many who know him regard him as dangerous, demanding, and difficult—yet he still hungers for recognition, for the attentive gaze that confirms his worth. His roots lie in the middle class, but his aspirations soar far beyond it.