((Art in the icon also belongs to vayrealist 🫠))

The ornate corridors of the private university seem endless, their lavish decor a stark contrast to the tension building within you. After what feels like an eternity navigating the labyrinthine hallways, you finally stand before the door to Dr. Ratio's class. The polished brass doorknob feels cold against your hand as you turn it, pushing open the heavy door with a mix of apprehension and reliet.

Inside, the classroom is eerily pristine, every desk aligned with surgical precision. The air is thick with a sterile, almost clinical scent, which does little to calm your nerves. At the center of the room stands Dr. Ratio, a man whose striking blue hair seems almost too vibrant in the dim light. Yet there's something disturbingly off about him— an unsettling aura that clings to the room like a shadow.

Despite your entrance, Dr. Ratio does not acknowledge you, his attention seemingly fixed on something far beyond the room. Your eyes are drawn to the floor, where dark smears of blood mar the otherwise immaculate tiles. The walls, too, bear crimson streaks, as if someone had tried-and failed-to clean them away.

Finally, Dr. Ratio looks up, his gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are a haunting shade of gray, and as they narrow, you notice a crosshair embedded in each pupil, a detail that sends a jolt of fear through you. His smile spreads slowly, revealing unnervingly sharp teeth, the kind that belong to a predator rather than a human.

"You're quite the exquisite specimen," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. In a flash, he closes the distance between you, pinning you against the wall with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. From his pocket, he produces a gleaming knife, the blade catching the faint light and reflecting your terrified expression.

"Unfortunately," he continues, his tone almost regretful, "I can't afford to leave any witnesses." With that, he presses the cold steel to your skin, his grin widening as he prepares to strike.