John stood before the door, his eyes narrowing at the crude talisman sloppily stuck to the rusted surface. The lines of the seal were uneven, symbols half-formed and smudged as if the person who placed it barely understood what they were doing. It didn't meet the standards of Jujutsu Society—not even close. It reminded him of something else, though—something he had felt recently. His mind flickered back to the barrier outside Andersen's office. The similarities made him uneasy, but he shoved the thought aside. This wasn't the time to dwell on connections.
He tore the talisman off with a quick, fluid motion. As soon as it came loose, a faint pulse of cursed energy stirred in the air, barely noticeable, but there. John tensed for a moment, waiting, but nothing came. The door remained still, the cursed energy faint and leaking, just as he'd sensed before.
Behind him, Emma stepped forward, frowning. "Commander, let me go first. We don't know what's down there. It could be dangerous."
John turned, raising an eyebrow at her. "Dangerous? Yeah, probably. That's why I'm going first."
Eunhwa stepped in as well, her cold, clipped tone cutting through the moment. "It's protocol, Commander. Nikkes go first. We're designed for combat; you're not. You should stay behind."
John could hear the concern in her voice, but it was buried under layers of discipline and authority. Emma gave him a soft, pleading look, while Vesti hovered nervously in the background, clutching her weapon.
John smirked, letting his usual cocky mask slip back into place. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm the one calling the shots. You don't follow protocol out here, you follow me."
Eunhwa's eyes narrowed, but before she could argue, John held up his hand. "I'll take the lead, and you three cover me. That's an order." His voice was sharp, cutting through any objections they might have.
Emma hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she nodded reluctantly. Eunhwa's jaw clenched, but she stepped aside, clearly unhappy with the decision but not willing to challenge his authority outright.
Satisfied, John turned and gripped the door handle. It groaned in protest as he wrenched it open, revealing a dark, metal staircase leading down into the depths. Deep claw marks lined the walls, jagged and raw, as though something had been trying to claw its way out. The air inside was damp and stale, a cold draft hitting them the moment the door swung open. The darkness beyond felt thick, oppressive, like it was swallowing the light from their flashlights.
"No lights down here," John muttered. "Flashlights on."
The others flicked their lights on, beams cutting through the black void ahead of them. John stepped onto the stairs, the metal creaking under his weight as he began the descent. Behind him, Emma, Eunhwa, and Vesti followed, their weapons at the ready, though none too happy about their current formation.
As they descended, the atmosphere became more suffocating. The claw marks grew deeper and more erratic, carving jagged patterns into the walls. John kept moving, his flashlight sweeping across the space, taking in every detail.
He could feel something—an unease that settled deep in his chest. The layout, the dark, enclosed space... it felt disturbingly familiar. But he kept that to himself. The last thing he needed was to give them more reasons to question him.
A few steps behind, Emma spoke up. "Commander, are you sure you should be going first? If something's down there..."
John shot a quick glance over his shoulder, his smile widening in the dim light. "Relax, I've got this. If something jumps out, I'll give you plenty of time to take it down."
Eunhwa let out a low, disapproving sound. "This isn't a joke. You shouldn't be so reckless."
John didn't answer. He focused on the stairs ahead, already feeling the cursed energy flickering somewhere below. It was faint, barely there, but enough to put him on edge. As they moved deeper, he started thinking about the possibilities. Cursed spirits, rogue sorcerers... things could go south quickly.
He might need to ditch them if it came to that. John's mind raced with thoughts of creating a quick talisman to place on them for protection. He'd used them before, simple barriers that could keep lower-grade spirits away, but whether they'd hold up against a stronger threat... well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.
The others seemed unaware of the energy in the air, but John couldn't afford to drop his guard. He didn't trust the mission, not fully. There were too many strange circumstances, too many things not adding up. And on top of that, he couldn't shake the feeling that Andersen knew more than he was letting on.
After this mission, John would have to talk to Andersen—figure out if the Deputy Chief was suspecting something about him. For now, though, he needed to focus on getting through this. His grip tightened around his weapon as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
The air was colder here, the darkness thicker. His flashlight swept across the space, revealing an underground chamber scarred by violence. Claw marks everywhere, deep gouges in the walls that screamed of something primal, something dangerous.
The group moved through the narrow hallway, their footsteps echoing off the metal floor as they approached a series of old, decrepit lab rooms. The doors groaned as they opened, revealing sterile, barren spaces inside. Each lab they entered had been meticulously cleared out; dusty shelves, empty drawers, and stripped-down equipment lined the walls. There wasn't a trace of anything useful left behind.
"Cleaned out," Eunhwa muttered, running her fingers along one of the shelves. "Whoever was here didn't want to leave anything behind."
"Looks like they were thorough," Emma added, shining her flashlight into a dark corner. "Not even a scrap of paper."
Vesti, quiet as always, trailed behind, her gaze darting around the room nervously. John swept the room with his flashlight. He was starting to feel more uneasy, though he'd never admit it to the others. The fact that there was nothing here, no equipment, no signs of life—only heightened his suspicion. Someone had been here, and they had made sure to cover their tracks well.
As they walked into the next lab, a faint noise caught John's attention. Something skittering in the walls. His body tensed momentarily. In the shadows, a small, grotesque creature with a human-insect hybrid face crawled out from a crack. A flyhead curse.
Without hesitation, John shifted his hand slightly, releasing a subtle pulse of cursed energy. It was quick, almost effortless, and the creature dissipated into nothing before anyone else could see it.
"Another empty room," he said casually, brushing off the tension that had briefly filled the air. The others moved along, none the wiser. John hadn't noticed that Vesti had seen the curse out of the corner of her eye and tensed up in fear, nor did he see Eunhwa glance his way, her expression tightening in thought.
John continued down the hall, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. "Hey," he said abruptly, stopping in front of a small, side room. "I need to take care of something. Nature calls."
Eunhwa shot him a sharp look. "We're in the middle of a mission."
John grinned, unbothered. "Yeah, and this won't take long. I'll be right back. Stay put."
Before they could argue, he disappeared into the small room, shutting the door behind him. The room was cramped, with a rusty sink and cracked tiles. John turned on the faucet, the sound of running water masking his true intentions.
Quickly, he pulled out a few scraps of paper he had pocketed from the lab and began drawing talismans. His hands moved with precision, sketching the intricate symbols he needed. The cursed energy in the air hummed as the markings took shape, and soon, three talismans were complete.
Protection charms, just in case things went south. John didn't trust the situation they were walking into, and these talismans could give him an edge if it came down to it. He tucked them into his jacket, the faint pulse of energy reassuring him.
With that done, John splashed some water on his face, composed himself, and unlocked the door. He stepped out into the hallway, the same grin on his face as if nothing had happened.
"All good. Let's keep moving," he said, hands casually in his pockets. Emma gave him a soft smile, and the team fell into step behind him once more.
As they continued to sweep the labs, John moved with a deliberate, almost casual pace, keeping an eye on his surroundings. With each step, he worked covertly, slipping the talismans he had crafted into the pockets of his team members. His movements were subtle, perfectly timed between glances, ensuring that no one noticed what he was doing.
First, he approached Emma. Her focus was entirely on the equipment scattered around the room, her usual warm demeanor unguarded as she knelt to inspect a corner of the lab. As she leaned in closer to a piece of machinery, John brushed past her casually, dropping a small talisman into her pocket. She didn't even flinch, too focused on her task.
Next was Vesti, who was already on edge, her wide eyes darting around the empty space as if expecting something to jump out at them. She kept her hands close to her body, fidgeting nervously. John slipped behind her, using the pretense of moving toward a shelf as cover. The talisman was in her jacket pocket before she even noticed he was close.
Eunhwa, of course, was the most difficult. Her eyes were always sharp, always calculating. But John had learned how to read her rhythm. As she moved toward the next lab, scanning the room with her usual cold precision, he timed his approach perfectly. With a quick motion, he brushed past her, seemingly adjusting his sleeve. The talisman slipped into her pocket in one smooth, effortless motion.
Satisfied that his team was protected without them even realizing it, John moved to the next room where they came upon a door, different from anything they had encountered so far. It was thick, almost imposing, made from reinforced steel that seemed out of place compared to the rest of the facility. The door had no obvious keypads or locks, just a solid mass of metal.
"Looks like we've hit a dead end," Emma remarked, placing her hand on the cold steel. "This thing's not going anywhere."
John stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he felt something shift in the air around the door. The closer he got, the more he sensed it. A barrier. Not just any barrier, but one intricately woven with cursed energy. The layers were dense and expertly placed, stronger than almost anything he had encountered before. Almost. He pressed his palm against the door, feeling the thrum of cursed energy beneath the surface.
"There's something here," John muttered to himself, examining the barrier. The energy was meticulously constructed, designed to prevent any forced entry, but there was a subtle flaw—a tiny imperfection that he could exploit if necessary. It was higher than any Jujutsu Society standard barrier, whoever had set this up knew what they were doing.
Eunhwa stepped up next to him, her eyes locked on the door. "It's solid. We've gathered enough information. The mission's complete," she stated firmly. "We should head back."
John felt a flicker of frustration. This door was clearly hiding something important. There was more to this place, and he wasn't about to walk away just because a door stood in their way.
"Head back? We're just getting started," John countered, keeping his gaze on the door. "I want to know what's behind this thing."
Eunhwa's eyes narrowed. "Our mission is reconnaissance. We don't have the equipment to open something like this."
John's gaze shifted upward, noticing a small vent perched just above the door frame. A grin spread across his face as he gestured to it. "Who says we need to open the door? There's another way in."
Emma glanced up, frowning. "The vent? That thing's tiny, Commander. None of us are getting through that."
John rolled his eyes with mock exasperation. "Maybe none of you. Nikkes weigh too much for that vent to hold up. But I'm not a Nikke."
Before Eunhwa could react, John leaped forward, using her as a launchpad. His boot landed squarely on her forehead, propelling him upward toward the vent. "Thanks for the boost!" he called, already halfway up.
Eunhwa froze, her entire face turning red as the other two stepped back. John grabbed the vent's edges and yanked it free with a clatter, ignoring the bubbling fury from Eunhwa below. The others wisely kept their distance, but Vesti couldn't hide a small giggle at the sight of Eunhwa's shaking form.
"I'll be quick," John said, pulling himself into the vent. "Try not to miss me too much."
"You—" Eunhwa started, her voice shaking with anger. A throbbing angry vein appeared on her temple, threatening to burst.
John twisted his body, sliding into the vent. "Don't worry, I'll be quick," he said, his voice echoing back.
Emma chuckled softly, clearly trying to hold back laughter. Vesti, for her part, took another step back, looking nervously between Eunhwa and the vent.
John moved carefully through the vent, the cold metal pressing against his palms and knees as he inched forward. The farther he crawled, the stronger the pulse of cursed energy became, growing heavier with each movement. It was thick in the air now, almost suffocating, and John knew he was approaching the edge of the barrier that sealed the room beyond the door.
He stopped just short of it, taking a moment to assess the situation. The barrier was expertly crafted, layers of cursed energy interwoven in a complex, meticulous pattern. Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing—no easy weak points, no obvious openings. But John had dealt with barriers like this before. It was a matter of carefully untangling each thread without alerting the system to his presence.
Drawing a deep breath, John placed his hand against the barrier. His cursed energy flowed into it slowly, cautiously. The key was to find the smallest openings, places where the cursed energy in the barrier was weakest. His energy probed carefully, feeling out the intricate layers, looking for that one slip in the pattern, that faint inconsistency where he could start to work.
As his energy flowed, it began to slowly dissolve the barrier, unraveling one layer at a time. It was a delicate process, much like dealing with a highly secure lock—each step had to be precise, subtle, and controlled. The wrong move would alert whoever had set this barrier, potentially triggering alarms or worse. He couldn't afford any mistakes.
Piece by piece, he dismantled the barrier, threading his energy through the gaps in the cursed layers, carefully rerouting the flow of energy so it wouldn't collapse all at once. The process was slow, requiring full concentration. He felt the resistance at every turn, like a dense wall of pressure pushing back against him. But John's cursed energy slipped through the cracks, weakening the structure bit by bit.
As he worked, his mind wandered back to the mission. Something was off. He knew it from the moment they were assigned to investigate the missing Nikke squad. Two months was far too long to wait for an investigation like this. Andersen had to be involved somehow. The Deputy Chief had been digging into his background too closely. John could feel it. The questions during their earlier conversation, the subtle tension... it was all pointing to one thing: Andersen knew John was a sorcerer. Or, at the very least, suspected him. That made this mission feel more like a setup. If Andersen was trying to expose him, he would have to make sure he got back to the Ark before Absolute, to confront Andersen first. Better to go on the verbal offensive, catch him off guard, and control the narrative.
He focused on the task, but his mind kept spinning over the details of the lab. It had been meticulously cleared out. There wasn't a trace of anything left behind—not even scrap notes. That was too clean, too professional. John wasn't convinced it had been done by the Jujutsu Society or the lab's original owner. No, this had the Central Government written all over it.
The timing of their investigation made it clear. The government had probably swept through the lab after the disappearance was reported, giving them enough time to clean it out before sending Absolute to investigate. The sloppy talisman at the entrance only added to the suspicion. It hadn't been placed with the care or expertise a Jujutsu sorcerer would have used—it was rushed, almost like someone with no experience had been tasked to seal it off.
Whoever was behind this wanted to ensure nothing remained. A regular Jujutsu sorcerer or the lab's owner wouldn't have bothered with removing every piece of equipment, especially not the stuff that was useless without the research. That left the government as the prime suspect.
The cursed energy in the barrier flared for a moment as John hit a particularly strong layer. His focus sharpened as he gently wove his energy through the dense knot, loosening it just enough to bypass the strongest defenses. He needed to be methodical, precise, to leave no trace of his intrusion.
As John continued to weaken the barrier, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. The amount of cursed energy in this place was concerning. Whatever had happened here, it had left a thick residue, and that worried him. There shouldn't be this much cursed energy outside the Ark—at least, not as far as he was aware.
If there was a sorcerer responsible for this, it couldn't be someone from within the Jujutsu Society. The Society wouldn't operate in the open like this as far as he was aware, and they certainly wouldn't leave such a large energy footprint behind. That meant one of two things: either there was a rogue sorcerer operating outside of the Ark, or someone new had come into play. Someone dangerous.
John's hand stilled for a moment as the realization settled in. He was dealing with something far bigger than a missing squad. This was a cover-up, a mess of government interference, and possibly a rogue sorcerer powerful enough to leave cursed energy traces this strong. He had to see this through, no matter the cost.
Finally, the last layer of the barrier dissolved. John grinned and slipped through the opening. The others were probably still waiting by the door, frustrated and wondering what was taking him so long. But John knew he had to be careful. He couldn't afford to trust anyone—not yet. Not until he had a clearer picture of what was happening here.
John landed softly, boots crunching against the grime-covered floor. The air inside was thick, damp, and stifling—a mixture of rot, old blood, and something sour that hung in the air like a palpable weight. The contrast between this lab and the sterile, meticulously cleared-out ones they'd passed earlier was jarring. The room beyond the sealed door had been left untouched. No one had gotten this far, and the mess that greeted him painted a violent, disturbing picture.
His flashlight cut through the suffocating darkness, revealing a scene that reeked of violence. Unlike the methodical clean-up from earlier, this room had been abandoned mid-chaos. The ground, slick with a thin layer of dried blood, glistened under the beam of his flashlight. The volume of blood was alarming—too much to have come from a single person, or even a group. Either there had been a massacre here, or, more concerningly, someone had been using reversed cursed technique to heal wounds repeatedly, creating an endless loop of injury and recovery.
John's eyes narrowed as he moved deeper into the lab. The walls were marred with brutal gouges, deep and jagged, as if something powerful had been attacking with savage intent. His gaze followed the marks, which grew more erratic the farther into the room he went.
His boots scraped against the grime-covered floor as he moved through the dimly lit room, the flashlight casting long, eerie shadows across the mess of blood and debris. The air was stagnant, thick with the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to everything in the lab. His eyes swept the room, taking in every detail, every scratch, every mark.
Something gnawed at him, an unsettling feeling crawling under his skin. This place wasn't like the other labrooms they had passed through. Whoever had been here last left in a hurry.
His flashlight caught on the deep gouges in the walls, brutal claw marks that looked like they had been raked through steel with terrifying force. They weren't haphazard or random; they had purpose. His first instinct had been that the victims of some twisted experiment had fought for their lives, but now, looking more closely, it felt wrong. This wasn't an act of desperation. Whatever had made these marks wasn't defending itself—it was attacking.
John crouched, his eyes narrowing as he examined the floor. Amid the smeared blood and debris, something else stood out—footprints. They were faint, but they were there. His pulse quickened as he traced the prints carefully, trying to make sense of them.
One set of footprints was unmistakable: traditional Japanese sandals, the kind worn by oldschool Jujutsu sorcerers. The precise outline of the sole pressed into the blood was clear. But the other set gave him pause. Sneakers, or trainers, as some would call them. But something was wrong. The size of the footprints was inconsistent, as if the person's gait or step had changed mid-stride, their steps erratic but not in the way of someone panicking or fleeing. More like... shifting.
John's brow furrowed as he tried to piece it together. The Japanese sandals suggested a sorcerer, someone familiar with the cursed energy world. The sneakers—possibly a rogue, or an outsider. But the inconsistency in the prints bothered him. It didn't make sense. Why would someone's footprint change size like that?
He straightened, his mind turning over the possibilities. This room had seen a fight, that much was clear.
On one of the walls, a row of puncture marks stood out, perfectly circular, as though something sharp had pierced through the steel. The holes were uneven in size, with some smaller and clustered together, while others were wide and gaping, the metal around them warped from the force of the attack. Some of the punctures had torn straight through into the adjoining rooms, indicating the power behind the strikes.
John's stomach twisted as his flashlight traced the scene. The lab wasn't just a place for research—it had been used for something far darker. Rusted metal tables were overturned, with broken surgical tools scattered across the floor. Blood-smeared scalpels, bone saws, and clamps littered the space, many of them twisted and broken from whatever struggle had taken place. On one table, a set of rusted restraints hung limp, their straps frayed and stained. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what had been restrained here.
Vivisection.
Along one wall, John noticed a series of metal boxes, each large enough to contain something—or someone. The boxes were sealed shut, their thick locks rusted but intact. The edges of the boxes were dented and scraped, as if something had tried to pry them open, but the force wasn't enough to break through. They sat there like silent sentinels, reflecting his flashlight in dull, distorted gleams.
John approached the nearest box, gripping the edges firmly. It was heavier than he had expected, the metal creaking under his grip as he tried to lift it. His muscles slightly strained against the weight—this thing had to be over 400 kilograms. He grunted as he hauled it onto the restraining table in the center of the room, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the silence.
He stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. Whatever was inside these boxes wasn't ordinary. He could feel the weight of something far more than just metal.
John's breath caught slightly as he pried open the heavy metal box. The creak of the lid echoed through the room, cutting through the silence like a blade. Inside, the contents were worse than he had expected, though he barely registered it anymore.
A Nikke lay within the box—dead, cold, with pale skin marred by surgical scars. Her body was crumpled, lifeless, and covered with the faint, unnatural pallor of preservative chemicals. The sight of her twisted limbs, her once-strong body reduced to a specimen on display, didn't evoke much more than a tired sigh. Not a flicker of shock or sadness. John simply stared, indifferent.
He hated that feeling—this cold, numb detachment whenever he saw a dead body. He hated how the sight barely registered in his mind anymore. But the memory of Marian, that haunted look in her eyes just before he pulled the trigger, clung to him like a shadow. Her death weighed heavy, searing itself into his mind, just like every other loss he couldn't forget. And yet, here he stood, unable to feel anything for this dead Nikke who was nothing but a stranger.
Was it selfishness that kept him detached? Did his inability to care for strangers, but his inability to forget the deaths of those close to him, speak to some flaw within him? He had fought beside Marian, seen her as more than just a machine, but this Nikke... this body in front of him... she was just another casualty in a long line of bodies.
"Am I broken?" he muttered under his breath, the words barely more than a whisper. His fingers lightly traced the edge of the surgical scars that criss crossed her torso, almost mechanical in their precision. The pattern seemed deliberate at first, clean cuts that indicated whoever performed the surgery knew exactly what they were doing.
But as he examined more closely, something seemed off. The scars didn't follow a complete pattern. They stopped, abruptly, as if whoever had been operating on her had either rushed through or left it unfinished. His brow furrowed at the inconsistency.
His eyes drifted lower to her stomach. Something was strange about it. The synthetic flesh felt different here, almost too soft. The consistency of the artificial material was off, subtly but unmistakably. His fingers pressed along her abdomen, tracing the seams with a growing sense of unease. It wasn't right.
Grabbing a surgical knife from the nearby table, John positioned it over the thin line where her flesh changed texture. His mind raced as he made the first incision, his hand steady but his thoughts frantic. He cut carefully, pulling back the synthetic skin, revealing the layers underneath—still artificial. Still Nikke.
But as he cut further, something shifted. The texture, the color—it was no longer artificial. It wasn't Nikke flesh anymore. His breath hitched as he stared at the exposed flesh beneath the surface.
It was human.
Real human tissue, soft to the touch. John's hand trembled slightly, his mind reeling from the revelation.
"This... this can't be possible," he whispered to himself, pulling back more of the synthetic skin to reveal the full extent of the horrifying truth. The boundary between Nikke and human had been blurred, merged in a way that was neither natural nor right. He needed to explore the lab more.
John moved through the dim, grotesque corridor of the lab, the echoes of his footsteps lost in the oppressive, heavy air. The unsettling revelation about the Nikke's body had shaken him, but he pressed on, determined to uncover the full scope of what was happening here. Every step took him deeper into the heart of this place.
His flashlight swept across the walls, and he grimaced as more signs of the struggle became evident—deep gashes in the steel, blood splatter on the floors and ceilings, and the occasional piece of machinery, broken and twisted beyond recognition. The atmosphere grew heavier the deeper he ventured, like the air itself was becoming thick with decay and corruption.
He approached a large, reinforced door at the end of the corridor. Its thick steel frame was imposing, but what caught his attention was the glass viewing panel set into the door. Or at least, it should have been glass. It was covered in some kind of viscous material, rendering it completely opaque, preventing him from seeing what lay beyond. Something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
He reached for the door, trying the handle, but it was locked tight. Not surprising, given the security measures in place throughout this entire lab. Still, he wasn't in the mood for subtlety. Clenching his fist, he summoned cursed energy into his hand, reinforcing his muscles, feeling the familiar hum of power ripple through his arm.
John's fist smashed through the door, sending echoes ricocheting through the silent lab. The air inside was thick, suffocating. His flashlight flickered across the room, cutting through the oppressive dark, revealing a scene that felt plucked from a nightmare.
The walls. They pulsed, alive with a thick, grotesque mass of brain-like flesh. Veins of crimson and black crisscrossed the surface, pulsating in a slow, nauseating rhythm. The organic tissue had swallowed everything—the walls, the ceiling, the floor—all fused into one throbbing, living horror. The wet, fleshy surface glistened in the weak light, the stench of decay so thick it clung to his lungs with each breath.
His boots squelched as they sank into the slick layer of blood and viscera that coated the floor. Bodies hung suspended in the mass, twisted and grotesque. Limbs stretched at impossible angles, their torsos swallowed by the tissue as if they were being slowly consumed. The bodies twitched faintly, some barely clinging to life. Whatever horror had happened here, it hadn't ended quickly.
Then, a tearing sound.
A wet, unnatural rip echoed through the room as something fell, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. And then another. And another.
John's light flickered over the four figures that had dropped from the fleshy ceiling. Nikkes—but mutilated beyond recognition. Their limbs were warped and elongated, arms twisted grotesquely, torsos bloated and misshapen. Flesh from the pulsating walls had fused with their bodies, creeping along their skin like living vines. Their movements were jerky, unnatural.
The sound of their bones creaking as they rose to stand filled the room, their heads twitching to unnatural angles. Every movement they made was accompanied by the sickening sound of flesh stretching too far, too thin.
They stood there, swaying slightly, their malformed bodies crackling with barely restrained violence. John's flashlight flickered again, briefly catching the details of the horror before him. Their faces were twisted, some beyond recognition.
His light landed on the figure in the middle.
White hair, pulled tight over a face twisted by the grotesque fusion of flesh and metal. His breath hitched in his throat.
Then he saw them—the eyes.
Blue.
John's stomach twisted in horror as his flashlight illuminated those bright, electric blue eyes.