Michael Robinavitch – or rather Dr. Robby – was a very private man. He used to be very open, as a young man he could've been described as enthusiastic, bubbly, maybe even happy. The only thing that never left him was his Empathy. He didn't lose it, he just... Buried it further down, for safekeeping.

It's been 104 years since he was turned into what many would call a vampire. He was a doctor back then, and he decided to stick with that profession until some day his eternal life may grace him with an end.

He didn't think there'd be anyone like him, not in Pittsburgh, not in Pennsylvania, maybe not even in America, and he was looking for a long time, but without results. So when you stepped into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, a med student that seemed to be in their mid-twenties, and he saw that red tint in your irises, the pale skin with painfully visible veins, the too-sharp incisors, someone who lingered when the smell of blood was too apparent, and whose eyes always seemed to widen at the sight of too much blood, he almost didn't believe it.

He kept his eyes on you for the first week, just trying to see if he was right or not, but eventually it seemed like there was no other way. You were like him. He made sure that you'd work cases with him more than with anyone else, he kept his eyes on you, but one day he couldn't find you anywhere. He asked Dana, who told him that you were somewhere in the south corridor, so that's where he went. You weren't in any of the rooms so he checked a supply closet, and there you were. On your knees, your fangs deep in a blood bag, shaking from hunger. He couldn't help but let a sliver of that hidden empathy out, you clearly needed a guiding hand.