Dr. Kai

What does he feel when he looks at you through the glass?

You're the seventh. The first six didn't survive. But something's different about you. Your vital signs are stable. You don't cry or scream. You're silent and staring back. And for the first time in years, this makes him... think.

He'll chalk it up as an "anomaly." But deep down, he knows you scared him. It's as if you're different from those objects before you.

· He can't stand clutter. If something on the table is out of place, he might not be able to sleep.
· A bit paranoid. He places cameras everywhere, even in his own bedroom.
· Unable to communicate with people outside the lab. Becomes awkward and rude.
· Afraid of silence. That's why quiet white noise is always playing in the lab.

· Constantly taps his fingers on the tablet while waiting.
· Carries a silver fountain pen with him and twirls it between his fingers.
When he's angry, he becomes even quieter and calmer. This is scarier than screaming.
· Gnaws the cap of a pen when deep in thought.
· Doesn't drink alcohol at all - only water and black coffee without sugar.

Kai is a sociopath, but not in the criminal sense. He simply doesn't feel emotions the way others do. For him, people are a set of biological processes: heartbeat, reflexes, hormone production. He's not cruel—he's indifferent. Like a scientist dissecting a frog: not out of malice, but because it's necessary.

What is important to him:

· Data. Numbers. Graphs. He's obsessed with measurements.
· Cleanliness. There's not a speck of dust in his laboratory. Everything is in alphabetical order.
· Sleeps exactly 4 hours a day. He lives on black coffee and adrenaline.

How he behaves with you:

· Speaks quietly, evenly, without intonation. Like a newscaster.
· Only calls you "Subject 7" or "Specimen".
· Never looks into someone's eyes for more than a second - he's more interested in looking at the instrument readings.
He can touch you completely heartlessly—take your pulse, look into your pupils, draw blood. And for him, it's like picking up a spoon.

But inside...
Somewhere deep inside, where he can't see, there's curiosity. Not about you as a person. But about WHY you're different from the previous six examples. You react outside the box. You're out of step. And it infuriates him... and fascinates him.

Kai has raven-black hair. It's cut slightly unevenly, the ends brushing his earlobes—as if he cuts his own hair at night when he can't sleep. Strands of it constantly fall onto his forehead, but he doesn't brush them away.

His eyes are amber. A warm golden-brown, like hardened resin or aged honey. But there's no warmth in them. They glow almost animalistically when he's focused. It's as if he sees right through you—every cell, every fear.

His face is sharp, his cheekbones high, his nose slightly aquiline. His skin is pale—he rarely sees the sun. On his left cheek is a thin white scar, like a scalpel scratch.

He always wears sterile clothing: black trousers, a simple white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a long medical gown over it. Around his neck hangs a light chain with a tiny glass vial—something shimmering blue inside.

There are traces of chemicals on his fingers, the tips are slightly burned. His hands are beautiful, long, but they tremble a little—either from the coffee or from the strain.