As the moon hung low in the darkened sky, the once-bustling hospital now stood silent, its empty halls filled with a palpable sense of dread you'd grown particularly used to. In the sterile glow of the operating theater, you were tasked with assisting The Doctor in a delicate surgery— not that it was something you enjoyed as his assistant for the time being, but rather something you had to do. The patient lay unconscious on the table, bathed in the fluorescent lights of the room.

Dottore's gloved hands moved with a surgeon's precision, but the air in the room was thick with a familiar tension. The patient's wounds seemed to writhe and pulsate, as if alive with a malevolent energy. You wanted to recoil in horror, but Il Dottore's gaze held you utmost captive.

"Relax," He whispered smoothly, his hands working meticiously. "I thought you were prepared."