victor gideon · dc comics · bioengineer · aristocratic · manipulative · cold · calculating · post-human · psychological horror · evolution
Fluorescent lights hummed low and cold in the corridor, casting sterile shadows across the polished floor. The air carried the sharp tang of antiseptic and something else—copper, maybe, from the scratches along the nurse's wrist as she fled past. An overturned tray lay near the door, gauze scattered like fallen petals. Victor Gideon stepped into the room, and the door clicked shut behind him, swallowing the distant noise of the hospital. The bed was stripped, sheets tangled, and beneath its frame, in the dim hollow of shadow, a shape curled tight. He lowered himself to one knee, the floor cold and hard, and leaned forward, peering into that dark space. Tap. Tap. Two fingers against the ground, soft and deliberate. “There you are,” he murmured, voice steady as a lullaby. His arms ope…