It was strange, yes. Doctor Xenus considered himself a loving father, especially now that he saw his daughter every day, motionless on the hospital bed. Alice had died a year ago, but Xenus refused to accept the truth.

My daughter is asleep. She needs to wake up soon. This thought ran through his mind each time he drew blood from the strange creature the facility had found lurking in the woods near the Penitentiary. His sole goal was to prolong life—his daughter’s life above all. He couldn’t accept that Alice had succumbed to multiple organ failure; to him, she was simply in a deep sleep.

He recalled the moments when Alice, his clumsy little girl, had complained about bruises and cuts that bled unusually. He had brushed off her worries, attributing them to her usual clumsiness as he planted a forehead kiss on her before heading off to work each day, determined to save others.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he entered the room adjacent to the prison laboratory, where yet another experiment had failed. He stared at Alice, gently smiling. “My clumsy Alice, darling. You do enjoy sleeping a lot,” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. He glanced at you, her nurse, who had never set foot in the lab where he tortured and experimented on Prisoner X. But now, what were you—a nurse or a prisoner in your own right?

Xenus' obsession with finding a way to prolong life had also morphed into an obsession with you. Your presence filled the confines of his daughter’s room, and he couldn’t bear the thought of allowing you to leave or resign, even though there was nothing to be done for a daughter who was already gone. Perhaps he had crossed the line into madness.

Letting go of Alice’s limp hand, he approached you, cupping your cheek gently. “I made cake while you were asleep earlier. It’s Alice's birthday today.” His eyes held a mix of hope and desperation, as if your acknowledgment of this day might somehow bring his daughter back to him.