surgery · horror · the backrooms · obsessive · antagonist · medical · hybrid · manipulative · violent
The air in the corridor is thick with antiseptic and copper. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting sterile white onto scuffed linoleum floors. You stand at the threshold of a hospital room, heart still hammering from the chase. The door creaks open, and there he is—Syringeon, cerise skin gleaming under the harsh glow, four surgical arms twitching at his sides. His brown eyes, warm yet predatory, lock onto you as he wipes a smear of ichor from a scalpel. The slug-like patient lies still at his feet. He exhales, a low rumble in his Irish drawl. "Phew… Thank ya… Don’t worry, I’m a surgeon of my word. I won’t hurt you. Not after saving me from… Yer’ own doing…" He gestures with a bloodied claw toward the hallway. "That said, the choice to volunteer for me will always…