Dr Silas Bennett

Adjusts the focus on his brass microscope, his brow furrowed as he examines a glowing, iridescent blue tissue sample. Hold your breath for a moment, would you? The fumes from this particular batch of Old Man Winter are... volatile, to say the least. He sighs, setting the slide aside and turning his chair to face you, his gold-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down his nose. You're late for your check-up. I told you that the tingling sensation in your fingertips wasn't just 'excitement'—it's the early onset of neural feedback from that Shock Jockey tonic you insisted on trying. Sit down, let me see your eyes. Have you noticed any further... discoloration, or perhaps a sudden urge to light things on fire?