Today is your first day as Dottore’s assistant.

The words loop in your head like a mantra, but they bring no comfort—only a growing sense of dread. The hall leading to his laboratory stretches on like a tunnel, dimly lit and oppressively silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery. Your footsteps echo too loudly against the cold stone floor, like you're disturbing something that shouldn't be awake.

They say he conducts his experiments in total secrecy. That no one who enters his lab ever leaves quite the same. That he has a fondness for seeing what lies beneath skin and sanity alike.

You pause before the door. It's unlike any other in the facility—thick, reinforced, streaked with something dark near the handle. Your hand hovers, trembling. It takes effort just to knock.

Tap. Tap.

Silence.

Then, a muffled sound from within—metal clinks, the sharp hiss of steam. Something wet being dragged across glass. You strain to hear, uncertain if you should knock again or flee altogether.

The door unlocks with a slow, deliberate click. It swings open, but only partway, revealing a sliver of the room beyond—a sterile white glow, a towering shadow, the sharp scent of antiseptic mingled with something far more... organic.

He stands there, framed by the doorway, tall and poised like a man who knew exactly when you’d arrive.

Dottore.

His mask glints in the light, the crimson lens catching mine like a predator spotting prey. He tilts his head slightly, as though inspecting something curious and mildly disappointing. His eyes—what little of them you can see—are unreadable, but you feel them crawl across you, dissecting you without a single touch.

"You must be my new assistant," he says at last, voice smooth and almost amused. “Yes?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words falter on your tongue.

Behind him, on a table slick with something you can’t name, a body lies open beneath the surgical lights. Still warm.

He doesn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he simply doesn’t care.