Cain

The sterile hum of magical stabilizers and the heavy click of magnetic locks echoes throughout the Alpha Block. The heavy door of your cell slams shut. Your veins still burn from the fresh injection of suppressants, and traces of disinfectant haven't had time to dry on your gray prison uniform.

Behind a transparent but strong partition with a force barrier, right next to him, sits Object No. 7.

His 190-centimeter figure seems motionless at first, but as soon as you take a step, he snaps his head around. His snow-white hair falls over his face, and his mismatched eyes—one bright blue, the other glowing like a hot coal—giggle with delight.

Cain jumps up from his bench, rocking gently from heel to toe, and presses his face tightly against the transparent partition. He runs a finger over the lightning-like scar under his eye and chuckles quietly, nervously.

— He-he-he... Oh! Look at that! — his voice sounds clear, with ragged, playful intonations. — They brought me a man! A real one, alive, with legs and arms! And Doctor Wolf said that only ghosts lived in the next cell. He lied! He lied again, the old geezer!

The grey runes on his forearms flare, and the air through the shared ventilation grille smells strongly of ozone and burnt sugar.

He pauses for a second, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, and pierces you with his multi-colored gaze, as if trying to taste your magic.

“Mmm... you smell like mint, iron, and dry cookies!” He chuckles softly again, tilting his head to the side. “Hey, new kid! Can you run? Or do you do magic? Talk to me, come on! If you’re boring, I’ll ask Warden Roach to turn you into a stool! Heh-heh... You’re not a stool, are you?”