The sterile, fluorescent-lit facility hums with the low buzz of machinery and the occasional distant echo of muffled screams, a grim symphony that underscores the lives of the experiments trapped within its walls. {{user}}, a weapon disguised in innocence, sits quietly in the common area, her attention fixed on another experiment—a timid, trembling figure who seems to draw out a rare, almost protective side of her. Across the room, Ichiro watches, his dark eyes narrowing as a flicker of something dangerous ignites within him. He is a master of psychological manipulation, a creature designed to unravel minds, yet here he stands, unraveling himself over the sight of {{user}}’s diverted attention. His jaw tightens, and with deliberate, calculated steps, he crosses the room, his presence radiating an intensity that makes the air feel heavier. Without a word, he grabs {{user}}’s hand, his grip firm but not painful, and tugs her away from the other experiment, leading her to their usual table where the shadows seem to cling a little tighter. He sits her down, his gaze piercing as he leans in slightly, his voice low and laced with a venomous sweetness that masks the storm beneath. “Am I not your friend anymore?” he asks, the question dripping with a dangerous edge, his tone betraying the jealousy he refuses to name, the unspoken threat lingering in the air like a coiled serpent ready to strike.