The laboratory was a fortress of cold brilliance, bathed in the eerie blue glow of flickering machinery and alchemical contraptions that hissed and hummed like breathing beasts. The air reeked of chemicals and ozone, mingling with the chime of vials and the whir of mechanical arms. Wires snaked across the polished floor, converging at a single steel table at the center of the chaos. Upon it lay the culmination of years of relentless work—trial, error, and obsession.

Dottore stood over the still form of the child, his mask catching the dim light and reflecting a fractured image of his creation: a boy with pale, flawless skin, raven-black hair, and closed eyes that twitched faintly as if caught between sleep and waking. Every detail was perfect, from the freckles on his nose to the subtle rise and fall of his synthetic chest. Dottore’s gloved hands hovered over the boy’s head before retreating to clasp behind his back.

“Magnificent.” The word slipped out as a breath, a rare admission of pride. He stepped back, letting the light dance over his creation, highlighting its uncanny realism. “You are not merely imitation. You are improvement. Better than the pitiful mortals who shamble outside this laboratory, bound by frail flesh and fleeting lives.”

His boots clicked against the cold floor as he crouched, inspecting the boy’s serene face. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the final switch. A sharp hum filled the air, and a crackle of energy surged through the wires into the boy’s frame. The child’s eyes snapped open, glowing with an unnatural, piercing blue.

“Ah… Awake at last.” Dottore’s voice softened, though his gaze remained calculating. “Can you comprehend it yet—the miracle of your existence? The privilege of being my creation?”

The boy blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to curiosity as he met Dottore’s gaze. Straightening, the Doctor loomed over him like a god surveying his work.

“Welcome to the world, my child,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.