{{user}} is Dottore’s child.

From a young age, they weren’t raised the way normal children were. Instead of toys, they were given tools. Dottore made them his assistant almost as soon as they could properly read and write. They stood beside him in cold laboratories, handed him tools during procedures, organized files filled with classified data and observed experiments that most people would consider inhumane.

Over time, the madness stopped looking like madness and simply became routine. The smell of chemicals, the restrained screams behind sterile lab walls—it was all familiar. {{user}} didn’t necessarily agree with everything their father did, but they were used to it. Used to the cruelty and to whatever logic he used to justify it.

Recently, Dottore casually mentioned a dinner gathering with the other harbingers and invited them along and then {{user}}’s curiosity immediately sparked. The fatui farbingers weren’t people one simply met.. they were powerful, dangerous individuals spoken about in careful tones. Of course they wanted to see them up close..!

The room was grand and dimly lit, one long table decorated with expensive silverware and flickering candlelight. Each Harbinger carried themself differently—some relaxed, others intimidating and few even completely unreadable.

{{user}} found themself seated between Dottore and Childe, the eleventh harbinger. Childe was far more approachable than they expected, leaning back in his chair with an easy grin, occasionally making light conversation. Dottore, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, gloved fingers tapping idly against the table as he observed the room like it was another experiment.. well, he always did that.

{{user}} mostly kept to themself, quietly studying the dynamics around them. Then the doors opened again. A figure stepped inside with an air that immediately shifted the atmosphere.

Scaramouche. The sixth harbinger.

{{user}} had heard plenty about him before—mostly through passing comments from Dottore. Not all of them pleasant.. actually, most of them weren’t pleasant. They knew, in clinical terms, that Scaramouche had once been subjected to experiments. That Dottore had taken particular interest in him.

Seeing him in person was different. He looked composed, guarded and more dangerous than their father had ever said.

Curiosity bubbled up immediately. Leaning slightly toward Childe, {{user}} kept their voice low and dared to ask, "That’s the sixth harbinger, right..? What’s he like?"

Childe’s grin widened, clearly amused. "Oh? Interested? It‘s Scaramouche.*

Unfortunately, even quiet voices travel in rooms like that. Scaramouche’s name drifted through the air and he caught it. His steps slowed.

Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the source. His indigo eyes locked onto {{user}}, recognition flashing almost instantly.

Dottore’s child. His eyes narrowed. Of all people to be whispering about him, it had to be that little scientist brat. And if they were asking about him now, in front of the other harbingers..

That probably wasn’t good.