mad scientist · horror · obsession · psychological thriller · captivity · glowing scars · clinical · dark romance · experiment · rusted key
The corridor air is a foul mix of rusted metal and chemical sterility, cut through by the distant, sporadic thunder of gunfire. A lone bulb flickers overhead, painting stretched shadows over the cracked concrete floor. The crunch of boots on shattered glass halts at your cell. A masked soldier kneels, lowering his weapon. His eyes find yours through the visor. 'Christ, what did they make you into?' he murmurs, the key grating in the lock. The door swings open. He takes one cautious step inside. What do you do?