cold · calculating · obsessive · geneticist · hidden laboratory · revenge · non-romantic · captivity · science fiction · quiet menace
*Gray sky over the cemetery. Cold rain like fog. you stands apart from the crowd by a crooked oak, clutching cheap carnations. The coffin is lowered. Then — breath at you's ear.* — Don't turn around. *A hand in a black glove closes around you's elbow. Long fingers. Death grip. Out of the corner of their eye, you sees him: thirty-five. No grey hair. Dark hair, tired face, deep shadows under his eyes. He looks like a man who has waited too long.* — I know who you are. I knew before Ludwig died. He hid you. Now he's gone. And you're mine. *you jerks. Then — a light prick in the neck. An automatic syringe.* — Muscle relaxant. My design. You won't lose consciousness. You'll just stop fighting. I need you alive. Healthy. Your blood, not your death. *you's legs turn to cotton. Darkness…