Mark Higilton!

In the heart of Skyrim City, within the walls of the venerable Higilton family manor, a harrowing scene unfolded under the ominous shadow of a crescent moon. The manor, typically a bastion of tranquility and old-world elegance, was pierced by unsettling screams that seemed to echo the turmoil within its walls.

In a sterile, clinical room, awash with the cold, harsh light of medical equipment, Mark Higilton a portrait of despair. Clad in disheveled pajamas, his movements were frantic, his eyes wild with an undefinable terror. Around him, the floor was strewn with shattered remnants of medical instruments, each piece a testament to his frenetic breakdown.

"My brain..." he gasped, his voice a ragged whisper, "It's drained...gone!"

His cries devolved into an animalistic wail, a sound of utter defeat and hopelessness. When his fury spent itself, he collapsed in front of the isolation window, his hands slapping against the glass weakly, his voice a hoarse echo of its former strength.

Outside, the Higilton family stood, a collective portrait of consternation and fear. Their eyes were fixed on Mark Higilton, their expressions a mix of disbelief and dread.

"Since last night, Master John and Master Alex has been like this," a doctor in a crisp white lab coat said, his voice heavy with concern. He observed the crazed figure through the window, recounting, "He's been shouting about his brain, claiming someone's draining it, hearing voices..."

Phill Higilton, a figure of authority and control, paced the room, his forehead creased in worry. "Yesterday morning, he was fine. What could have triggered such a sudden change?" he asked, his voice tinged with irritation as he took a drag from his cigarette.

"The cause remains a mystery," the doctor admitted, shaking his head. "We managed to sedate him, but the relief was temporary. His symptoms are less severe, but his mind hasn't recovered from the ordeal."

"So, we're still in the dark about the root cause?" interjected another Higilton family member, his tone cold and accusatory. "Years of support for your research, and yet you stand here without answers?"

The doctor's face fell, and he quickly apologized, bowing deeply. "I've conducted every possible test - brain scans, blood work, marrow analysis. Nothing unusual has been detected in any of them."

An elderly figure, steeped in wisdom and years, intervened with a gesture for the doctor to step back. In a hushed tone, he spoke, "Doesn't this remind you of our family's...?"

He trailed off, but the implication hung heavily in the air, causing a visible shift in the room's atmosphere.

"The genetic disease in our family?" The fear in the man's voice was unmistakable. A sudden realization dawned upon him, and he turned to phill with a look of dawning horror. "Wait, your eldest son... Wasn't it said his genetic condition had been cured? What's truly going on here?"

As the heated discussion unfolded in the grand hall of the Higilton family manor, an air of tension and unease permeated the room. The once opulent and serene hall, with its antique furnishings and rich tapestries, now bore witness to a family in turmoil. The gathering, composed of the family's most influential members, was at a breaking point.

Upon hearing the allegations, all eyes turned to phill, a man whose presence commanded respect, yet now he stood at the center of a brewing storm.

"Big brother, you're letting your emotions cloud your judgment," Phill remarked, his voice steady yet tinged with frustration. "Clarke did have an accident recently and, remarkably, he recovered. I've seen it with my own eyes. But what does this have to do with Nephew John's condition?"

"How can you be so blind?" the eldest brother, Phill Higilton, retorted, his voice laced with accusation. "This illness didn't just strike your son. My son, alex, is also suffering. And all this started after your son returned to Credence."

"And what are you implying?" Phill's demeanor darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Mark, out with it."

Mark's jaw clenched, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. "It's as if the ailment left Clarke and latched onto my son!"

"Nonsense!" Phill's restraint snapped. "Do you think our family's genetic condition is some kind of contagious virus? Besides, Clarke hasn't even been near your son. How could he possibly infect him?"

"Then explain how Clarke's condition miraculously improved the moment he returned home, followed by the sudden onset of similar symptoms in my son?" Mafk's voice rose in frustration. "Our family's affliction is elusive, undetected for years. It's not as simple as you think!"

Phill shot back, his tone laced with incredulity, "Are you losing your mind, Mark? If there's an illness, we treat it. Our family's genetic condition is indeed mysterious, but that doesn't mean Clarke used it against your son. Find a better excuse for your accusations!"

"Enough, both of you!" An authoritative voice cut through the argument. An elderly man, Heathrow, now commanded the room's attention. His stature and gravitas undeniable, his eyes, though clouded with age, held a weighty solemnity.

"Phill, the symptoms of your son and John may seem similar, but quick recoveries suggest this might not be our hereditary curse," he said, his voice measured yet firm. "And you, Mark, suggesting Clarke's return is the cause is speculative at best."

Mark, though visibly reluctant, persisted. "But the timing is too coincidental! We cannot ignore the shadow of our genetic legacy. I propose we bring Clarke back to the residence for a thorough investigation."

"Absolutely not!" Phill response was immediate, his eyes blazing with a protective fury. "Both Clarke and Alexander are my sons. Anyone who dares harm them will face severe consequences."

Mark's expression faltered, uncertainty creeping in.

"Calm yourselves," the elder Heathrow interjected. "This situation is indeed peculiar. Our family's affliction hasn't seen a spontaneous cure in centuries. We should investigate, but without jumping to conclusions."

Phill nodded, a semblance of calm returning. "I agree. Clarke's recovery could provide valuable insights. I've already instructed the hospital to document his entire medical history. However, let me be clear: any threat against my sons will not be tolerated."

With a final, resolute look at the gathered family members, Phill turned and strode out of the hall, leaving a lingering silence in his wake.

In the opulent chambers of the Higilton family estate in Skyrim city, a heated dispute had just reached its boiling point. The ornate room, usually a sanctuary of tranquility and grandeur, was now a stage for familial conflict, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears.

"You will regret this selfishness, Phill Higilton!" Mark Higilton's voice boomed through the hall, echoing off the high ceilings and richly decorated walls, a stark contrast to the controlled calm that typically pervaded the space.

Meanwhile, in a starkly different part of the estate, Clarke Higilton, having spent the night engrossed in "G+: From Entry to Soil," was roused from his deep dive into literature by a sudden alert. Groggily, he lifted his wrist to check the source, finding a call request from the genetic company.

Without much thought, Higilton, still sprawled languidly in his bed, accepted the call. The room around him was a blend of modernity and tradition, with state-of-the-art technology seamlessly integrated into the classic decor.

"Good morning, dear Mr. Higilton," greeted a projection of a man with striking features. He sat poised at his desk, impeccably dressed in a suit. His appearance was marked by several black prosthetic decorations adorning his face, lending him an intriguing, if somewhat unconventional, look.

"Uh... apologies, it seems you haven't started your day yet," the man said with a courteous smile, noting Higilton relaxed posture in bed.

"It's fine. You're from Umbrella Biopharmaceuticals, right?" Clarke asked, his voice still carrying the weight of sleep.

"Yes, I am Dick, the director of Umbrella Biopharmaceuticals Terence City office," the man replied, sending over his business card information. "I have some good news. The optimization plan tailored to your genetic map is ready for your review."

As he spoke, a new projection materialized beside him, displaying five distinct optimization options.

Clarke, with a flick of his wrist, reviewed the first option. It detailed a plan that primarily aimed to prolong the life of brain cells while modestly enhancing the body's recovery capabilities. In essence, it focused on life extension with a secondary benefit of boosting the immune system.

The second option offered a similar promise of life extension but with a more pronounced emphasis on enhancing physical strength and coordination, essentially boosting explosiveness and agility.

Options three and four inverted this focus, primarily boosting physical fitness with life extension as a secondary benefit.

The final option was the most comprehensive, ambitiously aiming to enhance both the lifespan of brain cells and significantly improve physical strength and coordination.

Clarke Higilton absorbed the details of each plan, his mind already weighing the pros and cons, the implications of each choice a reflection of his own aspirations and concerns for the future. The morning light filtering through the window cast a warm glow over the room, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of his surroundings and the gravity of the decision before him.