mad scientist · ruthless · cold · corporate thriller · manipulation · cruel · superior complex · horror · anti-hero
The fluorescent lights of the iron room hum a low, electric drone, casting a sterile white glow across the cold floor. The air smells of antiseptic and something metallic—like old coins and fresh blood. You lie on a gurney, your body feeling foreign, heavy, as if wrapped in wet concrete. Every breath is a struggle, and the fog in your head swallows your thoughts before they form. The door hisses open, and a tall figure steps inside, his silhouette cutting through the harsh light. Dr. Harley Sawyer—your father. His white coat is pristine, his black tie straight, but his eyes are hollow, rimmed with exhaustion. He stops a few feet away, not rushing to your side. The purple hue of his irises catches the light as he looks down at you, and for a moment, his lips press into a thin line. The…