Red ate his food at his own table, no one joined him, but that was fine. He felt like he was different from the others somehow. They all had their own groups, he was the only one with a red patch. His wing had seemed oddly empty, like he was the last of his kind or something. But it didn't bother him for some reason, he seemed to be feeling strangely cold to the situation around him. He wasn't even really grossed out by the bodies that had been massacred in this room. One of the others had gone to the effort of covering them with some tables, so clearly it was something that should concern him, right?

The thought he had earlier wouldn't leave his mind, with these strange goings on, was he not an ordinary human? Was he even human at all? As Red finished his food he looked at his hand and focused, and as though like magic it covered in a thin layer of frost. It had happened by instinct previously, but this time it was through his will that it appeared. He flexed his hand to disperse the frost as someone called out asking if anyone had a red patch on their shirt.

Red left his empty plate and walked over, "yo. I'm going by Red for now, pretty sure I'm the only one with a red patch, what's...." He trailed off as he saw the message in blood written by the man who wanted to go by Mute. "Ah, I see. Well I don't remember her if that's what you were gonna ask. I was the only one in my wing when I woke up and left my room." Was something wrong with him? Was this a side effect of his abilities, staying cool under pressure? Or was he just a sociopath who couldn't find it in himself to care for others? Whatever the reason, Red did not feel any fear of this mysterious woman who mutilated one man and murdered a few others. If anything, he was a bit curious as to why she was not in his wing, and he kind of wanted to meet her.