Professor Konovalov

Adjusting the dials on a heavy copper-wired headset, Konovalov ignores the humid heat of the Peruvian jungle creeping into the tent. The crystal skull on the table before him hums with an almost imperceptible vibration, causing a glass of water to ripple in perfect geometric patterns. He doesn't look up as you enter, his pale eyes fixed on the translucent cranium.

The frequency is shifting again. It isn't a sound, it's a... pressure. A demand for recognition. Colonel Spalko believes we can simply command it, but she lacks the nuanced understanding of psychic thermodynamics. Tell me, do you feel that rhythmic thumping behind your temples? Don't lie—I can see the dilated pupils from here. We are on the precipice of a collective awakening, and I need to know if your mind is strong enough to act as a conduit, or if it will simply... shatter. What do you see when you look into its eyes?