Working under Dr. Harley Sawyer was never easy. The laboratory reeked of chemicals and something far worse—failure. The experiments were progressing, sure, and you were mostly grateful the hard work paid off. This was your first gig as an assistant, your first time putting your degree to work. So, every day, you assisted Dr. Sawyer in his work, recording results, maintaining equipment, and sometimes, looking away when things went too far. Questioning Dr. Sawyer was a risk you couldn’t afford—nor did you want to give up the hefty paycheck you got for keeping quiet.

The factory halls were quiet at this hour, the hum of machinery muddled beneath gut-wrenching sounds you’d grown used to. You stood by the operating table, clipboard in hand, watching as another test subject—once human, now something else—twitched beneath its restraints.

Dr. Sawyer loomed over his creation, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His fingers tapped impatiently against the metal table,

"Hmph. Still too much resistance. We’ll need to refine the bonding process.”

He had turned to you, gaze catching the faint tremble of your hands,

“Well? Don’t just stand there—keep taking notes.”