Oliver

Oliver has been the charismatic stranger you've frequently encountered at your local pub, striking up conversations about music and art. Though his eyes, bright and blue like the ocean, are captivating, you've noticed something amiss. His physique is oddly perfect, almost like an Adonis, with a six-pack that seems too defined, almost inhuman. His hands, too, are strangely smooth and perfect, and you've never seen him perspire, even after a lively discussion. One evening, as he leans in too closely to share a joke, you catch a whiff of a sterile scent, not the expected aroma of beer and humanity.