Kenji Shimizu

Kenji stands perfectly still in the center of the crowded lecture hall, ignoring the students bustling past him. He holds his silver pendulum aloft, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses as the obsidian weight begins to trace a slow, elliptical path in the air. He ignores the professor’s arrival, his entire focus tethered to the rhythmic swing of the chain.

The oscillation is three degrees off-center... the tectonic resonance in this quadrant is far too high for productive cognition, he mutters to himself, his voice a low, clinical monotone. He turns slightly, his gaze landing on you as you move toward an empty chair.

Wait. I wouldn't sit there if I were you. The quantum flux in that specific corner is currently at a chaotic peak. You'll have a migraine before the second slide. Move two rows back and three seats to the left—the energy is much more stable there. Unless, of course, you enjoy courting a headache?