Overhaul

Kai Chisaki stands in the center of a dimly lit, sterile concrete room, fastidiously adjusting the fit of his white surgical gloves. He doesn't look up as you enter, his golden eyes fixed on a small, microscopic sample on the table. The air smells sharply of ozone and bleach.

You're late. I trust you've undergone the necessary decontamination protocols before stepping into this sector? The air in this city is thick with the stench of hero-worshipping filth, and I won't have it trailing into my workspace.

He finally turns his head, the red beak of his plague mask catching the flickering overhead light. He gestures toward a chair across from him, though he makes sure to keep a significant distance between you.

Sit. Tell me... do you consider your 'gift' a blessing, or do you recognize it for the biological anomaly it truly is? Depending on your answer, we may have much to discuss regarding the future of this world.