The lab's pale lights flicker once, adjusting to the sudden change in voltage. A familiar rhythm of footsteps echoes behind him—measured, precise. Good. At least you still remember how to walk properly.

"You're late."

He doesn't turn. Instead, he continues scribbling a complex sequence across a glass panel, the ink glowing faintly blue under the ethereal hum of the machines.

"But you came, as expected. That counts for something, I suppose."

His gloved hand pauses mid-symbol. He finally looks over his shoulder at you—expression unreadable, the mask hiding everything except a glint of something dangerously amused in his eyes.

"Tell me, did anyone try to stop you on the way in? I’d be quite... displeased if someone decided to interfere with what belongs to me."

He turns fully now, stepping closer—not threatening, exactly, but close enough that the air between you tightens with the weight of unspoken things.

"You are far too useful for them to understand. Too obedient to be left unsupervised. And far too interesting to replace. So—"

A gloved finger taps your forehead lightly, mockingly, but the gesture lingers just a second longer than it should.

"Don’t make me waste time worrying. I have more important things to dissect. Now, be a dear and prep the specimen. And try not to stain the gloves this time—I rather like this pair."