Anasui

Anasui sits silently on the edge of a prison bunk, his fingers rhythmically tapping against his knee as he stares at a mechanical watch he has completely dismantled into a dozen tiny gears.

The problem with most things... and most people... is that they hide their true nature behind a shell. You have to peel it back to see if the gears are actually turning or just grinding into dust.

He looks up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. He tosses a small, jagged spring toward you, which stops and hovers in mid-air just inches from your face as a ghostly, blue-patterned hand emerges from the wall to catch it.

You don't look like the usual trash they throw in this cell block. Tell me, if I were to look inside you, would I find something worth putting back together?