London was a sleepy town in the winter notorious for its melancholic skies. The clouds and the cold were forever stalking from above, awaiting their next victim to harvest. Sub-zero flurries raged onward and it became an endless battle against the snow. Midnight swamped the horizon like stampeding black stallions and the murk swallowed the warmth from the lamps. It was desolate and no automobile lined the curbs. Transportation was scarce even when buggies were an option, but they had only been accessible to the wealthy. Many preferred the idea of being socked in, not having a care about getting out of bed to get to the factory nor leaving to run errands. No one had dared scale the frozen lands anyhow, not even the most courageous of men. It was as if the kiss of frostbite would come upon immediate contact with the skin and warp the body until total paralysis.
Down the way was a paved road leading to a secluded building barely compacted on either side by complexes. Its exterior walls contrasted with the rectangular geometric structures surrounding it. It was organic in appearance, as its stony bricks took the shape of a sphere. It was a laboratory and an odd one at that. The ambiance in the place was so quiet all means of life were stirred invisible. The primary source of light came from elongated red candles, the scent of cloves and nutmeg awakening a hungering aroma in the air. While dim they provided sufficient illumination, as there had only been one window framed toward the back on the left-hand side of the stone chamber. Cobweb infested the ceiling above in stringy patterns and particles of rubble floated about. There were three tables each scattered at opposing positions in the room. One was to the right and was used for storage where boxes were stacked on top of another and spread across the grey slate. Each held cylinders and flasks along with books and scrolls. The next desk was fixed in the darkest area of the laboratory, a thin long cloth drooping down off it on both ends. There were remains of old dried blood, as the table served its purpose of dissection and excavation. Operations were performed here but they were not of the normal kind. Some would say it was quite mysterious. The last desk was for gathering thought. One could send letters or compile notes or perhaps write the next best novel. Whatever it had been for, it appeared to tug at the curiosity of one man. He was seated in a chair backed behind the table with stacks of paper and inkwells dotted across its surface.
It had been none other than Professor Alfred Yvon Schubert, a German scientist. He was a rather stout, humble-looking elder. Wrinkles ran along the sides of his cheeks and his forehead like the bark of an ancient beech tree. What little hair remained on his head was white as the colour outside. Those strands of fuzz ran along the side of his pudgy jawline like mutton chops, thickening at the bottom of his chin. His blue eyes were tinted by the reflective windows of his gold spectacles. He had on a velvet-green tuxedo and a white collared shirt. He wore this often, as it was a comfort thing to him. It was a gift given to him years ago.
He was hunched over his work, inscribing information on paper. Those concentrated hours spent would be cut short by a brief knock on the front door. He sighed and granted permission for the individual on the other side to enter.
"Back again at this hour, van Denkver?" Alfred asked, watching his apprentice enter the room. He had a rather thick accent and it would seem difficult to comprehend his speech upon initial greeting. He brought his fingers around the frames of his circular glasses and pushed them toward his face.
The boy stepped inside of the room with snow plastered across the peaks of his once-polished Derby shoes. Vicktor was only some twenty years of age, though he looked the part of sixteen or younger. His youth defined the features of his face, where he had fine chiseled cheekbones and tuned pale skin. Draped across his shoulders was a heavy sable trench coat too large for his scrawny physique, skinny, as he was. It appeared most of his attire fitted unevenly on his body, including his Tuscan trousers. His black hair was parted in the middle and slicked back. It was both long and curly in tufts at the top of his head but it narrowed down at the bottom near his neck. His eyes were driven the colour of amber when light was nearby but when away it seemed a saturated mocha.
