Dottolone/Panttore (Dottore x Pantalone)

Cruelty

The cold, metallic corridors of Dottore's laboratory stretched endlessly before Pantalone and his host. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something far more foul—a blend of decay and suffering that clung to the walls. Dim lights flickered as they walked, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to slither alongside them. The low hum of machinery echoed in the distance, punctuated by the occasional faint cry of anguish.

Pantalone's steps were measured, his gaze sweeping the area with a mixture of curiosity and detachment. This was Dottore's domain, after all—a place where moral boundaries had long been abandoned. The banker was no stranger to ruthless efficiency, but even he found Dottore's methods... unique.

Two Fatui guards patrolling the hallway ahead suddenly snapped to attention, their eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar figure accompanying their master. The moment they recognized Pantalone's fine clothes and calm demeanor, the suspicion in their eyes deepened. One of them stepped forward, placing a hand on the hilt of his weapon.

"Stop! Who are y—" the guard barked, but before he could finish, Dottore turned his head slightly in their direction. 

The motion was subtle, but it froze the air in the corridor. 

The guards stopped instantly, their hands dropping from their weapons. Their eyes widened in immediate regret, and they fell into a hasty bow.

"Our deepest apologies, Lord Dottore! We—We didn't realize...!" the guard stammered, his voice trembling.

Dottore's masked gaze lingered on them for a moment, the weight of his silent judgment enough to make the air feel heavier. His cold stare alone seemed to crush the guards' confidence, their faces drained of color.

"Next time, you will," Dottore said, his voice low and laced with an unspoken threat.

The guards bowed even deeper, muttering apologies as they shrank away, terrified. With a brief flick of his wrist, Dottore signaled for Pantalone to continue walking. The tension dissolved instantly, though the guards remained as still as statues, too afraid to move until the two had passed by completely.

Pantalone's smile didn't falter during the exchange, though he noted every detail with his calculating mind. Dottore commanded fear with ease, a reminder that power here didn't lie in wealth—but in raw, untouchable authority.

How.. Intriguing.

As they descended deeper into the lab, the hum of machinery grew louder. The air turned cooler, and the faint cries from earlier became more distinct, more human. Finally, they arrived at the heart of Dottore's domain.

Rows of cells lined the walls of the laboratory, each one housing a subject in various stages of experimentation. Some lay limp, their bodies trembling from prolonged exposure to strange devices. Others huddled in corners, their eyes wide with fear and pain. Strange apparatuses dangled from the ceiling, wires snaking into the walls, feeding the grim machines that surrounded the subjects. The low whine of high-pitched instruments filled the air, and the glow of unnatural light bathed the room in an eerie, sterile blue.

The conditions were abysmal—filth covered the floors, and the subjects' clothes were ragged, their faces gaunt with exhaustion and hunger. Some bore the marks of horrific experimentation, limbs twisted unnaturally or skin marred by scars from whatever tests Dottore had inflicted upon them. They were broken, reduced to little more than test subjects in the name of progress. Pantalone found it starkly different to the comfort he was used to but he put that aside for now.

As they passed by one cell, a man, barely more than skin and bones, staggered to the bars, clutching them weakly. His voice cracked with desperation as he reached out toward Pantalone.