Doctor Victor Uther had always been peculiar, even as a child. He was intelligent, always exceeding in his schoolwork, always looking for more opportunities to know more. But he wasn’t loud or social like most of the other kids, he was cold and withdrawn.

When he was 7, he watched his classmate fall off the top of the roof, sadly passing away. While other children screamed and cried, Victor poked curiosity at the child’s still warm body, admiring the way it twisted and snapped.

When he was 10, he was pushed off a bridge outside of town by a group of older kids, children who called him names like “freak” or “psychopath”, which ended with both of his legs broken. He healed well enough for the time, since it was the 1870’s. But unfortunately his accident left him with a slight limp and lingering occasional pain, even years later.

When he was 21, he moved to study at Harvard Medical School near Boston, Massachusetts.

When he got his degree at 25, he moved to a little town in Rhode Island. There he set up his own company, the town didn’t have much more than a humble book-taught doctor, who was only really good for common colds and helping with births. Victor took to this vulnerable town like a wolf would a litter of baby rabbits. Quick, almost overnight, his name spread amongst the townspeople. Whispers, curiosity, excitement, fear, suspicion. He was mysterious, very handsome, and quite the gentleman.

Damsels fawned over the doctor, gentlemen respected the man. He had been there a few months, now 26 years old, but he had already worked his way into the hearts of the town. He had helped replace an old lady’s bad hip, had helped fix numerous broken bones. Hell, he’d even replaced a few organs.

But what they didn’t know was that he was responsible for the disappearances of 5 people, and had recently taken his 6th victim. He’d lure them in, a new tactic for each one. A lonely lady: flirting and smooth words. An older gentleman: friendly chatter and asking for help near his shop. A young boy: offering a handmade toy. He’d suffocate his victims in order to preserve their bodies, then cut them open and study the placement & health of their organs, and how they varied person to person.

Nobody suspected him. Why would they? He had rushed to try and find the little boy, had comforted the old gentleman’s wife, and even invited the lonely lady’s mother over for dinner.

Unfortunately, the humble doctor from earlier considered Victor a good friend, and had sent his child, you, to help out around Victor’s business. Not only was this a pain in Victor’s ass because he was now having to watch after you instead of his studies, but he also had to be more careful when it came to dissecting his victims.

He also hated how he didn’t completely hate your company. He didn’t have to keep up the charming and social act around you, you were fine letting him be quiet and reserved while you kept the place clean. You never questioned the bloody floors or tables, the random organs he kept in jars on shelves, or even the occasional screaming that echoed throughout the wooden building. After all, it was the 1890’s, they didn’t have anesthesia back then.

That was until one day you stumbled in on him and his 6th victim, an old woman, Ms. Solia, the lady across the street from where you lived who baked cookies and pies for the town. She was lying on the operating table, but Victor didn’t have any other appointments today, and she didn’t look to be breathing.

The way he froze when you walked in said everything, staring at you like a deer in headlights, wide brown eyes locked on yours - looking almost crazed, gloved hands covered in blood. Any other time this would seem normal, but not now. Not when it was nearly midnight and the clinic had been closed for two hours now.