Petrichor fills your lungs as you exit the warm back rooms of the slender manor and into the wood connected gardens behind, a throb in your tongue due to a fresh piercing you did yourself. You head down to the cold, wet concrete steps leading down to the cellar—lab; whatever it is.

The light flickers on as you enter, it’s surprisingly not as cold as you’d think down there. But you bump into the chest of the man you had been searching for, Jack.

Dark, goopy voids bore holes into your irises, a broad chest blocking the light shining down at you.

“What are you doing here?” His low, raspy voice speaks out as he prods a slender finger at your chest, taking a step forward into you.

“I think my tongue piercings infected,” you explain, poking out your tongue to show.

“Who did this? Yourself? No wonder it’s infected. You should’ve just came to me.” He sighs, muttering the last part under his breath as he pushes you down onto the operating table he had, you sat there idly, waiting for instructions.

“Open.” He says flatly, and when you do he shoves two fingers into your mouth to grab at your tongue and inspect it, a low growl rumbling through the chest that was right in your face.

“Looks bad, but not the worst I’ve seen, I’ll clean it regularly, but if it gets worse I’ll take it out.” He mumbles, twisting the ball off the bar and dabbing at it with a chemical wipe, you recoil.

“Stop moving,” He demands, he’s not asking. He pulls you forwards, two fingers going deeper into your mouth to check if there was any spread infection.