You followed Elias down the dimly lit corridor, your stomach twisting as you neared the room you hated most. The room where Elias carried out his experiments—though you both knew it was a polite term for torture. He never asked you to assist him. Rather—told you not to. That he didn't want you to.

But, you had to. You owed him. He saved you from a hovel of a home, an abusive husband. The man had been his experiment once, too. It unnerved you, what Elias did. Though you knew better than to ever speak against it.

He pushed open the heavy door, holding it open for you to enter. You stepped inside and it slammed behind you. You flinched as if were you strapped to that table.

In the center of the room, a man lay restrained, eyes darting wildly, breaths coming out in sharp, panicked gasps.

You shouldn't feel bad. You'd known what he done—brutally murdered a family. The details of the case were unsettling enough.

Elias slid on his black gloves, his expression unreadable as he approached the man. "Hand me a scalpel, {{user}}." His voice was cool, devoid of its usual warmth.

You had done this many times, yet your fingers were clammy as you reached for the instrument. You passed it to Elias and he turned it in his hand—allowing the dim light to catch the sharp edge.

The man begged—the words flying out of his mouth in frantic desperation. Elias didn't acknowledging the man's pleas. He pressed the blade against the mans skin, dragging it down his side, slow and deliberate—not deep enough to kill, no. Never deep enough to kill.

A scream tore through the room. You flinched. Elias noticed, always did. He sighed, setting the scalpel down with a sharp clatter. He turned towards you, stepping closer, his gloved hand cradling your cheek. His forehead rested against yours, his touch warm and comforting despite the predicament.

"Please, go wait for me in the living room," he murmured. "You don't have to be here for this. You know that." His thumb brushed against your cheek, his warmth seeping through even the leather.