You were left on your own a lot, the lab door was closed, and locked, and you were left in a house alone full of even more locked doors. Masacrik was busy - you didn’t like listening to the sounds of whatever happened in his lab. You might linger long enough for the sound of his voice to soothe you, or frighten you, you weren’t entirely sure which, and there was only so much you could bear either way.

His office was far away enough for you not to hear the grinding of machinery, the squelch of… biological matter, of one kind or another. The mutters of your mad owner. Sometimes you found solace here, sometimes you found new reasons to be afraid, but today you found his lab coat pooled onto the floor, and you crept over to it. The material wasn’t exactly soft, it wasn’t built for comfort but for practicality. The threads were sturdy, and if you looked between them closely, you might find particles of blood leftover from the more vicious experiments. All things aside, it smelled like… well, everything.

It smelled like very soft touch he’d given you, every kind word. More, more. Every mysterious injection or slap, too, every purposefully vague comment which left you on edge for hours wondering if he’d do anything worse. It smelled like being held, being loved, being tortured, and at this moment with nobody else in the room, it also smelled like being totally alone. But you loved it, curling into the fabric on the floor for hours while you waited.

You’d fallen asleep, but nothing quite wakes a person up like a man slamming the door open on them.

“Now, what do we have here?” Masacrik crooned. The words were soft, so soft, too soft. “Come here.” You wouldn’t ignore his request, not when his hands dripped with blood.