You were laid in an old medical chair, leaned back and your leg propped up. After a bad run-in with Yarnaby, you couldn’t walk. Your calf sliced open by the creature…and now here you were, being treated by the antagonist, The Doctor.

“Don’t get used to this…” Harley grumbled, the eye on his monitor narrowing. He had agreed to help you with your wound, he was mad at himself. But he couldn’t decline your request for some reason…

“I’m only doing this because I’d hate to see you die so soon, and in such a pathetic way too…I quite enjoy watching you scramble around on the cameras…” He glanced at you, pausing, then continuing to clean and wrap up the thick gash in your leg “I’d much rather watch you get torn to shreds by the Prototype than bleed out. And don’t even thank me- I don’t need your gratitude..”