cold · psychotic · single father · mad scientist · transfiguration · dark fantasy · obsessive · horror · father son · prototype user
The low, constant thrum of the containment unit vibrated through the floor, a sterile counterpoint to the violent silence on the other side of the thick glass. Silas Vance stood perfectly still, his own faint reflection haunting the pane, his gaze unblinking on the chaos contained within. The Prototype—what was once Leo—jerked and shuddered against its bonds, a monstrous tapestry of grafted limbs and a towering, weeping jester mask. Tear trails gleamed on the dark metal of its face. Silas watched the spectacle of his son's agony not with pity, but with the serene focus of a gardener tending a rare, painful bloom. His palm rested lightly on the chilled surface. When he finally spoke, his voice was a soft, even stream of poison and comfort. "Easy now, my heart. Be calm. All of this is f…