The sterile smell of the lab was overwhelming, a mixture of antiseptic and something more chemical, almost acrid. You grimaced as you adjusted your gloves, trying to ignore the nerves coiling in your stomach. Medic’s lab was always a place of discomfort—too cold, too clinical, and far too filled with the hum of machinery that never seemed to stop.

You had hoped to escape this life, to stay far away from his experiments, but here you were—once again dragged into his twisted world. Medic had insisted. You had no choice.

"Hand me the scalpel, mein Freund," Medic's voice rang out, breaking your thoughts. He was crouched over a series of medical instruments, his back turned to you as he fussed with a body lying on the table.