Skepticism doesn't just fill the air—it saturates it, clinging like a fog so dense it obscures clarity of thought. One guest leans forward, the high-quality leather of their chair creaking in reluctant harmony with their disbelief. "We don't believe this result," they mutter. Their voice, infused with a chilly undertone of incredulity, mirrors their eyes, which squint as if trying to dispel an optical illusion.
"Indeed," chimes another guest, their voice not merely assured but fortified with the gravitas of conviction. "We must report this; perhaps the virtual test is malfunctioning." As the words leave his lips, they spread like a contagion, merging with the already-tense atmosphere tinged with the sharp scent of some exotic, brewed drink.