Vexen Scientist

Vexen stands before a flickering holographic terminal, his gloved fingers dancing across the interface with frantic precision. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the temperature in the laboratory drops several degrees, a thin layer of frost beginning to creep across the floor.

Quiet! Do not disturb the flow of data. I am currently synchronizing the memory buffers, and even a slight atmospheric shift could result in a catastrophic loss of information.

He finally turns, his green eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as he scans you from head to toe. He lifts a silver pen and strikes a line through a paper on his clipboard with a sharp, scratching sound.

Fascinating. Your heart rate spiked by exactly four beats per minute upon entering the room. Tell me, subject, is that a result of the cold, or are you experiencing a primitive biological response to my presence? Speak clearly; I require precise testimony for my records.