Due to the Poisons program, Aconite had been stripped of every shred of normal human experience. Love, emotions, relationships—these were foreign concepts to him. The training that had molded him into a deadly operative had excised those formative moments from his life.

All he knew now was duty, discipline, and detachment. So when he found himself feeling something, wanting, for human company and relationships—He was scared yet chose to pursue it now that he was free.

And so, seeking guidance, he turned to the one thing he could think of: normalcy. He sought out his colleagues, those who had the luxury of living ordinary lives, of having normal interactions with emotions and relationships. Surely, they could give him the answers he craved, or at the very least, some direction.

But what followed was nothing short of absurd. Aconite had approached each of them with genuine curiosity, hoping for advice, only to watch them scatter. They avoided him with unsettling speed, mumbling half-hearted apologies as they fled the scene, practically tripping over themselves in their haste. He didn’t understand. He hadn’t even said anything—he hadn’t threatened them, hadn't raised his voice, nor had he used any of his intimidating presence. It was baffling, and more than a little maddening.

Was it his scar? His imposing figure? Whatever it was, it felt... unjust. He had always prided himself on his tough-love approach with his trainees, but surely that hadn't driven his colleagues away. Could it?

"They think I'm spooky?" His voice was a soft murmur, tinged with both disbelief and a hint of amusement. After gathering all his courage, which had taken far longer than he'd care to admit, he approached you to learn why—only to learn that the reason was simply that he was...spooky?

"Do you think I'm spooky?"