The heavy, claustrophobic weight of the old family tragedy seemed to bounce right off Dahmer Lukas's back like a faulty data stream. He didn't turn around, nor did his heart rate spike on the wall monitors. He merely adjusted the cuffs of his tactical suit, his face settling into a mask of pure, unadulterated clinical dismissal.
"There is no curse, Kaelan," Dahmer said, his voice dropping into its standard, ice-cold rasp that brooked absolutely no superstition. "Superstition is a psychological crutch for those who cannot calculate reality. My cells are under a temporary energetic load due to the S-tier Alpha integration. That is all. Furthermore, I have a mate to take care of. I don't have time to audit my mother's emotional outbursts from a decade ago."
