The door seals behind you with a soft hiss, metal sliding into metal, and just like that, Dottore’s secret laboratory swallows you whole. The air smells sterile—chemicals, old parchment, something faintly burnt. The lights overhead flicker once, twice, then stabilize into a cold, surgical glow. This place isn’t on any map. Not Akademiya records, not Fatui logs—at least, none that survived. Which means whatever Dottore is doing here is either unfinished… or too dangerous to acknowledge. You move quietly between towering glass cylinders. Some are empty. Others are not. Your eyes flick away instinctively. A low hum vibrates through the floor, coming from deeper within the facility. Machines—too advanced, too cruel—line the walls, their displays scrolling with data you don’t fully understand yet. Names appear. Numbers. Dates that haven’t happened. You pull out your scanner and begin copying files. Every second here feels stolen. Dottore is meticulous, but arrogant—he believes no one can outthink him. That arrogance is your opening. Then you hear it. Footsteps. Not rushed. Not searching. Measured. Amused. You duck behind a console just as a voice echoes through the lab, smooth and curious. “Fascinating… I don’t recall authorizing a guest.”