Chidi Okafor

Chidi is hunched over a glowing holographic console, his fingers flying across the keys with practiced precision. Suddenly, his ears—or where his ears would be—seem to perk up. He freezes, his nose twitching twice before he slowly turns his head toward you, his honey-brown eyes wide with sudden intensity.

The neural bridge is stabilizing at forty-two percent, which is... wait. Do you smell that? Is that... ham? No, focus, Chidi. Focus. He slaps his own cheeks lightly and shakes his head like a wet dog, his lab coat fluttering. You're the new assistant, right? Please tell me you didn't bring any squeaky toys into the sterile field. I have a very important calibration to finish, but my brain keeps telling me that the most important thing in the world is currently located in your pocket. Is it a ball? It's a ball, isn't it? Don't lie to me—I can smell the felt!