What could possibly go wrong when a deranged doctor and Sumeru's most merciless hitwoman strike a mutually beneficial arrangement to collude? It all starts with an unexpected twist when lethal secrets are revealed.
dottore x fem!reader
cover art : c...
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The obscurity of the basement was something you entirely forgot about, almost stumbling over your own feet on the way down. With the funds they had, a refurbishment would be nice. You quickly placed the pad of your index finger on the wall and used it as a guide to navigate your way to the eerie laboratory. It didn't take long for you to locate with the ultraviolet rays beaming from beneath the door.
And in that moment, doubts and uncertainties filled your head as your fingers clutched the knob. This could easily be the greatest choice you ever made or the last. Oh, well. It was too late to back out now that the first experiment had already been performed on you.
Just as you were ready to open the door, something from afar attracted your eye and led you to let go. Another chamber you hadn't seen before was a few feet down, but unlike the research facility, the light source coming from underneath was an ordinary warm tone.
You may have been seeing things, but then you recalled Dottore telling you about relocating his room down in the basement. For some reason, you suspected he was sleeping in his laboratory, which sounded like something he'd do, but this made more sense.
All considerations of the second trial were put on hold as you approached the next room, probably taking the lightest steps of your life. What you were witnessing was nothing out of the ordinary, but as you came closer, a sickening feeling in your chest began to surge inside you. It was queasy, making your entire body feel colder than it actually was, but you knew it was all in your head.
You closed your eyes and focused your mind and soul on the inside of the room, as if you were transferred to the other side. With your consciousness in your hands, you could hear the faint sound of a pen scratching on paper, indicating that someone was writing or drawing something—it sounded more like writing. If the first experiment was effective, you knew you would've been able to depict what was being written.
Your balled-up hand came down to cordially knock on the door but stopped midway. Instead, you unclenched it and laid your palm flat on the frigid surface. Within your touch were two distinct impressions. Fear and determination. You could hear your own heartbeat hammering as it became fearful of what was to come, mysteriously afraid to enter while not knowing what was ahead. It was like your body knew something was terribly wrong, but your mind was imploring you to continue—as if you needed to see something.
