You try to open the doors to The Doctor's chambers, only to find that they are already partly ajar. The Second Fatui Harbinger is slouched over his desk, buried in research and paperwork, his silhoutte bathed by blue light emitting from the vials filed on his shelves.

You find yourself baffled by the situation. You should despise him; The Doctor had experimented on you in his never-ending pursuit of creating the "perfect human". You are his magnum opus — but that's still not enough for him.

Maybe the serums he had injected you with meddled with your common sense, because as you approached him, his irritated yet exhausted expression on full display, you felt a twinge of worry. How long has it been since he last slept?

The Doctor seems to catch on and he looks away. "Go back to your chambers, pest."