ShanxPennywise

"Avenue, schmeneue," Zeno sighed, dropping his feet to the floor with a thud. "Let's take a break. My brain is melting. I need to discuss something far more important than your boring compliance protocols." He leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin spreading across his face. "You. And the little coffee connoisseur."

Victor's jaw tightened. "This is not the appropriate time or place."

"Oh, I think it's the perfect time," Zeno insisted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I saw you two at the gala, Vic. I saw that kiss. I didn't even know you were capable of having real emotions, let alone... that. It was like watching a statue come to life and start making out with a goddess. I'm still not sure it wasn't a hallucination."

Victor shot him a look that could freeze mercury. "It was an unexpected physiological response to a heightened emotional state."

"Call it whatever you want," Zeno chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "I call it falling for her. And honestly, it's better than I ever expected. This is great! It means you're finally going to get laid."

Zeno didn't see the shift in Victor's eyes, didn't register the sudden, predatory stillness that came over him. In a blur of motion, Victor was out of his chair, his hand wrapping around Zeno's throat, slamming him back against the floor-to-ceiling window. Zeno's eyes went wide with shock, his hands flying up to claw at Victor's iron grip.

"Do not," Victor hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl, his face inches from Zeno's, "ever speak about her in that context again. Am I understood?"

Before Zeno could even manage a strangled nod, the door to the conference room slid open and Chanel and Amber walked in, carrying a tray of coffee and pastries. They took in the scene with a mix of alarm and practiced nonchalance.

"Boys," Chanel said, her voice a cool, even tone. "If you're going to engage in homoerotic dominance displays, could you at least wait until we've had our caffeine? It's much more entertaining that way."

Victor released Zeno with a disgusted shove, straightening his tie and resuming his seat as if nothing had happened. Zeno, rubbing his throat, shot him a wounded look before grabbing a croissant.

"(Y/n) got a perfect score on her final," Victor said, his voice tight, changing the subject with a jarring abruptness. "I am... obligated to provide a 'special treat,' as agreed. But I am... unskilled in this arena. I lack a frame of reference."

"Easy," Zeno said, his voice still a little hoarse. "Just buy her something expensive. A car. A necklace. Women love expensive shit."

"No, she's not," Amber said, shaking her head as she handed Victor a coffee. "We've spent time with her. She's not materialistic like that."

"Exactly," Chanel agreed, perching on the edge of the table. "Not everything has to be a transaction, Zeno. Remember my birthday last year? You didn't buy me a diamond bracelet. You planned that cute little day trip, that amazing hike with that incredible view of the valley and a cute picnic. It was perfect."

"And remember my birthday?" Amber added, her eyes soft. "We didn't go to some fancy restaurant. You guys made me that ridiculously lopsided, homemade cake, and then we went to that modern art museum. Zeno drew that ridiculous portrait of all three of us. It was the best gift I've ever gotten."

They both turned to look at Victor, their expressions soft and encouraging. They were exposing him, not as a cold, calculating genius, but as a man they knew had a soft heart, a man they had seen care for them in his own awkward, Victor-like way.

"Just give her something that reminds you of her," Chanel said gently. "Something that's uniquely... you guys. Something that shows you were actually listening."

Victor was quiet, his golden eyes distant. He was thinking, not about money or possessions, but about the quiet moments, the shared jokes, the way your face lit up when you sometimes understood a difficult concept.

He was thinking about the first time he saw you, the fierce, protective look in your eyes when you talked about your family, the way you had seen him not as a monster, but as a man.

He looked at Zeno, who was now busy stuffing his face with a Danish, completely oblivious to the profound shift that had just occurred. He looked at Chanel and Amber, who were smiling at him, their faith in him a quiet, steady beacon.

Victor seemed to sense their gaze, his eyes flicking towards Zeno for a brief moment before returning to you. The slight panic in his expression was replaced by a new, steely resolve. He took your hand, his grip firm and sure, a silent, possessive gesture that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

"Come with me," he said, his voice a low, intimate command.

You didn't hesitate. You let him lead you off the dance floor, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a whirlwind of hope and fear and a dizzying, undeniable love. You were leaving the uncharted territory of the dance floor and venturing into the vast, unknown wilderness of a future with Victor Gideon. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

The cool night air was a welcome shock against your flushed skin. Victor led you not to the crowded, bustling terrace, but down a quiet, manicured path that wound its way away from the main building. The path opened up to a secluded stone balcony that overlooked the city's glittering skyline and, below it, a meticulously kept rose garden, the fragrant blooms ghostly in the moonlight.

He didn't let go of your hand. He just stood there, looking out at the view, his profile a sharp, beautiful silhouette against the dark canvas of the night. The silence was different now. It wasn't awkward or empty. It was full. It was heavy with the weight of the kiss, with the ghost of his lips on yours, with the thousand things you both desperately wanted to say but didn't know how.

"I need to... clarify something," he finally said, his voice a low, rough rumble that seemed to resonate in the quiet air. "The night I was at your house. When I... stopped."

You turned to face him, your heart starting to beat a little faster. "Victor, you don't have to—"

"I do," he insisted, turning to face you fully. His golden eyes were dark, earnest, and vulnerable. "I need you to understand. In that moment, I didn't not want to kiss you." He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "It was the opposite. I wanted to so much it terrified me. It was an... uncontrolled variable. A system-wide failure. And I am not a man who accepts failure."

You felt a lump form in your throat, his honesty a raw, powerful thing. You just stood there, letting him speak, letting him bare a part of his soul he had never shown to anyone.

"You are..." he started, his voice a little hesitant, as if he were trying out foreign words. "The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Not just... aesthetically. The entire composition. Your intelligence. The selfless way you care for your family. Your compassion, even for a man who was... horrible to you." He looked away, a flicker of shame in his eyes. "You never cared about the money. Not really. Or the status. You appreciate the help, I know that. It got you out of a difficult situation with your family, your school. But that's not why you're here. You're here because you... see me."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, his words a healing balm on wounds you didn't even know you had. "I'm glad you finally let me in," you said, your voice a soft, steady whisper. "You always have these walls up, these scars. I know you're trying to protect yourself. But I respect you, Victor. I respect the man behind the walls."

You reached up and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his skin. "I'm comfortable moving forward, if you are," you said, your voice full of a quiet, steady strength. "But I'm not going to push you into something you're not comfortable with. I know you're not... fully emotionally developed."

A small, wry smile touched his lips. "That's the most diplomatic way of calling me an emotionally stunted genius I've ever heard."

"You're not emotionally stunted," you said, your smile softening. "You're just... a genius with emotions. They're there, Victor. They're just raw, and pure, and unspoken. I can feel them."

You could see the relief in his eyes, the weight of your understanding lifting a burden he had been carrying for years. He didn't have to be perfect. He didn't have to be in control. He could just be. And you would still be there.

He closed the small distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice a raw, broken sound

And then he kissed you. It wasn't the hungry, desperate kiss from the dance floor. It was a slow, tender, deliberate kiss. A kiss that was full of promise, of vulnerability, of a future that was finally, beautifully, within reach. It was a kiss that said, I see you. I hear you. I'm trying. And as you stood there, under the moonlight, with the city at your feet and the scent of roses in the air, you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your soul.

Six months had passed in a dizzying, beautiful blur. The dynamic between you and Victor had shifted, settling into a new, uncharted territory that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. It was a strange, sweet kind of puppy love, filled with shy glances across a crowded room, awkward fumblings for hands that never quite seemed to connect, and a shared, silent language that was uniquely your own. The physical intimacy was still a work in progress, a delicate dance of two people who were both desperate to connect and terrified of the power of that connection. More often than not, a hand on the back or a fingers brushing against an arm would result in a jolt, a flinch, a shared, bashful look that spoke volumes.

You were at another charity event, another evening of forced pleasantries and polite laughter. You were wearing a deep emerald green dress that Victor had picked out, a color that made your eyes sparkle. He stood beside you, a silent, imposing presence, his hand resting just above the small of your back, a careful, calculated distance that was both respectful and maddeningly chaste.

"I have my final pharmacology exam in two weeks," you said, your voice a low whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the drone of the crowd. "I'm... struggling with the cardiac medications. The mechanisms of action are all starting to blur together."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a hope you didn't have to fake. "I was wondering... if you might be able to help me study?"

He stiffened, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "I... am not an educator," he said, his voice a low, clinical rumble. "My methods are... direct."

"I'm a fast learner," you countered, a small, playful smile touching your lips. "Please? I trust you."

He looked down at you, his golden eyes searching yours, a silent war waging behind them. He couldn't deny you anything. He knew it. You knew it. He let out a slow, controlled sigh, the sound a quiet, reluctant surrender. "Fine," he conceded. "Saturday. My lab. 10:00 a.m."

True to his word, the tutoring sessions were intense. At first, he was a demanding, exacting taskmaster. He paced the length of his lab, his movements sharp and agitated, his voice a low, impatient growl when you couldn't immediately grasp a complex concept.

"No, that's incorrect," he would snap, pointing a long finger at the diagram on the holographic display. "The beta-adrenergic agonists mimic the effects of the sympathetic nervous system. It's not just about memorizing the names; it's about understanding the pathway. Try again."

But you didn't flinch. You didn't back down. You met his intensity with a quiet, stubborn resolve of your own. And slowly, miraculously, you began to see a change. His patience, a virtue he so rarely displayed, began to emerge. He started to break down the complex theories into smaller, more manageable pieces, his voice softening, his gestures becoming less aggressive. He would sit with you for hours, his long, elegant fingers tracing the intricate pathways of a cellular diagram, his presence a calming, steady force that helped you to focus, to understand.

You still worked at The Daily Grind, two shifts a week. You loved the familiar comfort of the cafe, the simple, honest work, the easy camaraderie with your coworkers. It was your anchor to a world that was real and tangible, a world that wasn't made of sterile labs and expensive champagne.

Victor's financial help had transformed your life in ways you were still trying to comprehend. Your siblings were thriving. Leo was the star striker on his soccer team, his confidence soaring with every goal he scored. Maya was a cheerleader, her bright, energetic spirit a perfect fit for the squad. You still visited your dad every day, sitting by his bed, reading to him, telling him about your day, your studies, your life. He was still stable, a constant, quiet presence in your life, a reminder of why you were doing all of this.

You also started hosting small study groups in your apartment, your nursing classmates gathering around your coffee table, their textbooks and notes spread out in a chaotic, colorful mess. It was a way to feel normal, to connect with people who understood the stress, the pressure, the shared dream of making a difference.

You were building a life, a real, messy, beautiful life. And Victor was a part of it. He wasn't just the brilliant, distant scientist anymore. He was the man who tutored you, who watched your siblings' soccer games from the shadows of the stands, who sat with you in the hospital cafeteria, a silent, supportive presence. He was still awkward, still a little bit broken, but he was trying. He was learning. And you were right there beside him, learning with him.

Six months had passed, and the city had settled into the crisp, golden embrace of autumn. The relationship between you and Victor had settled, too, into something new and uncharted. The frantic, desperate energy of those first few months had softened into a comfortable, if still slightly awkward, intimacy. It was puppy love, blooming in the most unlikely of gardens, fragile and sweet and terrifyingly real.

The formal label of "arrangement" was gone, discarded like an old lab coat. You weren't his sugar baby, and he wasn't your benefactor. You were... something else. Something undefinable. You were the woman he called late at night when the silence of his lab became too loud, and he was the man whose lingering scent on your pillow could make you feel safe in a world that still felt like a constant struggle.

Physical touch was still a minefield you were both carefully learning to navigate. A kiss goodbye was still a calculated, almost clinical event, a brief press of lips that left you both a little breathless and a lot flustered. He would hold your hand in the car, his long fingers a reassuring presence, but his touch was always deliberate, always controlled, as if he were afraid of breaking you, or himself.

One evening, as you were getting ready for another charity event a boring but necessary fundraiser for children's literacy you found yourself staring at your mountain of textbooks with a rising sense of panic. Your mid-term exams were looming, and the complexities of pharmacology were starting to feel like a foreign language.

"Victor?" you asked, emerging from the bedroom in a simple but elegant navy blue dress. He was standing by the window, looking out at the city lights, a glass of scotch in his hand. He turned, his golden eyes softening as they took you in.

"Yes?"

"I'm... I'm struggling," you admitted, your voice a little hesitant. "With my studies. Would you... maybe... could you help me? Help me study?"

A flicker of something panic, maybe crossed his features. He was a man of geniuses and breakthroughs, not flashcards and study guides. But he saw the genuine desperation in your eyes, and he couldn't refuse.

"Of course," he said, his voice a low, hesitant rumble.

The first few tutoring sessions were a disaster. He was a brilliant teacher, but his patience was finite. He would pace the floor of your small apartment, his long strides making the space feel even smaller. "No, no, no," he'd say, his voice tight with frustration. "The mechanism of action is not just about memorization, it's about understanding the cascading effect on the cellular level. You're thinking like a nurse, not a scientist. You need to think bigger." He had a small temper, a sharp, analytical impatience that was born of a mind that moved a thousand times faster than anyone else's.

But he never gave up. And neither did you. Slowly, painstakingly, you began to find a rhythm. He learned to be patient, to break down complex concepts into smaller, more manageable pieces. He learned that your "nurse's brain" wasn't a limitation, but a different way of seeing the world, one that was rooted in empathy and a practical understanding of the human body. You, in turn, learned to keep up with him, to challenge him, to ask the kinds of questions that made him see his own research in a new light.

Life had settled into a new kind of normal. You were still working at The Daily Grind, a few shifts a week to keep you grounded. You had small study groups with Chloe and Jannette, your laughter and shared frustrations a welcome contrast to Victor's intense, focused tutoring. Victor's financial support had become a silent, steady presence in your life, a gift you had learned to accept with grace. It had afforded your siblings a life you had only dreamed of. Leo was now the star of his soccer team, his cleats a little bit brighter, his confidence a little bit higher with every game. Maya was a cheerleader, her uniforms crisp and new, her smile a mile wide. You still visited your dad every day, the weight of his care a little lighter on your shoulders, a little easier to bear.

One crisp Saturday afternoon, you were sitting in your favorite corner booth at The Daily Grind, a steaming latte in front of you and your pharmacology textbook open. Victor was sitting across from you, a rare, quiet smile on his face as he watched you study.

"I've got a surprise for you," he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble that made your heart flutter.

You looked up, a curious smile on your lips. "A surprise? Is it a new, more efficient way to memorize beta-blockers?"

He chuckled, a low, rare sound that you loved. "No. Nothing to do with your studies. It's... for you."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flat box, wrapped in simple, elegant paper. He slid it across the table, his gaze steady and expectant.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You had a sudden, terrifying flash of the night he had given you the cake, of the cold, transactional nature of your early arrangement. But this felt different. This felt... personal.

You slowly unwrapped the paper, your fingers trembling slightly. You opened the box, and nestled inside a bed of black velvet was a small, rectangular device, sleek and silver, with a single button and a small, digital screen. It looked like a high-tech pager.

"It's a personal emergency alert system," he said, his voice a little tight, as if he were nervous. "It's GPS-enabled. It connects directly to my phone and to the Rhodes Hill emergency response team. If you're ever in trouble, if anything happens... you just press the button."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a disbelief that was quickly turning into a overwhelming, heart-wrenching wave of emotion. This wasn't a gift of obligation or a transactional gesture. It was a gift of pure, unadulterated care. It was a gift that said, I can't always be there to protect you, but I will always be watching. I will always be ready.

"Victor..." you breathed, your voice a choked whisper.

"I worry about you," he said, his voice a low, raw confession. "You're in school, in the city... alone. It's... an unacceptable risk."

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't find the words to express the tidal wave of love and gratitude that was threatening to overwhelm you. So you just reached across the table, your hand finding his, your fingers lacing through his. It was a bold, unspoken gesture, a physical connection that you were both still getting used to.

He flinched, a reflexive response to the unexpected intimacy, but then he relaxed, his fingers tightening around yours. He looked at you, his golden eyes full of a raw, vulnerable emotion that you were just beginning to understand. It was love. In its purest, most awkward, most beautiful form.

You didn't need a label. You didn't need a definition. In that moment, you knew exactly what you were to each other. You were the home he had never had, and he was the safety net you had always needed. And that was more than enough.

The day of your pharmacology exam arrived with a sick, heavy dread in the pit of your stomach. The fluorescent lights of the classroom seemed unnaturally bright, the air thick with the collective anxiety of a hundred nursing students. You had studied. You had studied until the words blurred together, until the intricate pathways of cellular receptors were seared into your memory. Victor had been a patient, if occasionally terrifying, tutor. But as you sat there, your textbook lying open but unread on your desk, a single, persistent thought echoed in your mind It’s not enough.

You looked over at Chloe, who was frantically flipping through a stack of flashcards, her face pale. "I'm going to fail," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I swear, my brain is just a blank slate right now."

Jannette, sitting on your other side, was chewing on her pen cap, her eyes wide with panic. "Don't say that! I feel the same way, though. It's like I know it, but I don't know it, you know?"

Their nervousness was a small, miserable comfort. You were all in the same boat, sailing straight towards an academic iceberg. Just as the professor began to pass out the exam booklets, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You discreetly pulled it out under the desk. It was a text from Victor.

Psychological stress can trigger a sympathetic nervous system response, leading to increased cortisol levels. This can impair memory recall and cognitive function. Mitigate this by engaging in slow, diaphragmatic breathing. Inhale for four counts, hold for seven, exhale for eight. It will stimulate your vagus nerve and lower your heart rate.

A small, involuntary smile touched your lips. Leave it to Victor to turn a simple "good luck" into a mini-lesson on neurobiology. Another text followed immediately.

Your synaptic pruning has been efficient. The data is there. Access it. Furthermore, a positive motivational stimulus can significantly improve performance outcomes. If you score in the 95th percentile or higher, I will provide a special treat.

Your heart gave a little flutter. A "special treat" from Victor Gideon was a mystery, a promise of something thoughtful and entirely unique. It was exactly the push you needed. The dread in your stomach began to dissipate, replaced by a surge of competitive determination. You took a deep breath, just as he'd instructed, and felt your heart rate slow.

Thank you, you texted back quickly. I'll do my best.

I know, was his simple, confident reply.

Two weeks later, you were a bundle of nervous energy, walking down the main hallway of the nursing school. The official exam scores had been posted on a large bulletin board, a sea of student ID numbers and corresponding grades. You pushed your way through the crowd, your heart pounding in your chest. You found your ID number and followed the line of numbers across to your score.

100. A perfect score.

For a moment, you just stared, sure you were seeing things. You blinked, and it was still there. 100. A wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over you, so powerful it made you dizzy. You let out a small, triumphant gasp, drawing a few curious looks from your fellow students. You didn't care. You had done it.

You immediately pulled out your phone, snapped a picture of the score sheet, your finger hovering over your number, and sent it to Victor. His reply was almost instant.

Impeccable. The result was not unexpected. Your cognitive functions are clearly superior to your peers.

You laughed, his backhanded compliment the highest form of praise you could have hoped for. Then, another message came through.

Your synaptic connections function optimally under positive reinforcement. As promised, a special treat is warranted. This Friday, 7:00 p.m. Be ready. Wear something nice. A car will be waiting.

You looked at Victor, and for the first time, you saw him truly flustered. A flicker of panic, raw and unadulterated, flashed in his golden eyes. He was a man who could solve a complex protein sequence in his head, but the simple, domestic question of your relationship status had caused a catastrophic system failure.

"She is my..." he started, his voice a low, hesitant rumble, the sentence trailing off into an awkward silence.

Seeing his distress, a strange, protective instinct surged through you. You had to say something. You had to save him. "I'm his..." you began, only to trail off yourself, the word "girlfriend" feeling too juvenile and "partner" too clinical.

The silence stretched, thick and excruciating. Dr. and Mrs. Richardson just stared, their polite smiles beginning to look a little strained.

Finally, Victor's brain seemed to reboot. He latched onto the one thing he could control the data. "Her work is instrumental," he said, his voice a little too loud, a little too firm. "A nursing student. Her insights into patient care are providing a unique... human-centric perspective. It's an invaluable... professional collaboration."

It was a terrible, unbelievable excuse, and you could see the confusion on the Richardsons' faces. They didn't understand what he was talking about, but they could sense the awkwardness. They were just being polite, but they had stumbled into a minefield, and Victor was desperately trying to defuse the bomb with a handful of clinical jargon.

"Well," Mrs. Richardson said, her smile now a little forced. "How... wonderful. We'll let you get back to your... collaboration."

They beat a hasty retreat, leaving you and Victor in a bubble of profound, mortifying silence.

Victor stood frozen for a moment, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the spot where the Richardsons had just been. He looked like he'd just been forced to perform emergency surgery with a butter knife.

Then, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. He reached out and took your hand, his grip a little too tight. "Come with me," he said, his voice a low, urgent command.

He didn't give you a chance to respond. He just pulled you through the crowd, his long legs cutting a path towards the bar. He ordered two whiskeys, neat, from the bartender, his movements sharp and agitated. He handed you one, the glass cool and heavy in your trembling hand.

He downed his in a single gulp, his throat working as he swallowed. He stared at the empty glass, then at the bustling crowd, his gaze a million miles away.

"They are imbeciles," he finally said, his voice a low, rough rumble. "To make such a simplistic, illogical assumption based on aesthetic data."

"They were just being nice," you said softly, taking a small sip of your own whiskey. The liquid burned a comforting path down your throat.

"It was an inefficient query," he countered, turning to face you, his golden eyes intense and conflicted. "And our failure to provide a concise response was... unacceptable."

"Victor," you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his arm. "It was just an awkward moment. It happens."

He looked down at your hand on his arm, then back at your face. The anger in his eyes seemed to soften, replaced by a deep, aching confusion. He was a man who could control any variable, any environment, any person. But in that moment, faced with the simple, human question of what you were to him, he had been completely, utterly powerless. And it had scared him.

"Let's not... do that again," he said, his voice a little quieter, a little more vulnerable.

"Get mistaken for your wife?" you asked, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips.

"Get cornered by imbeciles," he corrected, but a faint, hesitant smile touched his own lips. "But... yes. That too."

And as you stood there, at the bar, the awkwardness slowly melting away into a new, fragile understanding, you realized that you had just seen a side of Victor Gideon that no one else ever had. The flustered, panicked, desperately human side. And it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

The whiskey was a warm, welcome glow in your chest, a liquid shield against the lingering awkwardness. You swirled the amber liquid in your glass, watching the lights from the chandelier catch in its depths. Victor stood beside you, a silent, brooding presence, his discomfort still a palpable force field around him.

"So," you began, your voice casual, as if you were discussing the weather. "Hypothetically, if that situation with the Richardsons were to happen again and let's be real, at an event like this, it probably will what's our official response? Are we... collaborators? Associates? Partners in strategic asset management?"

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze lost in the swirling crowd. You could almost hear the gears turning in his brilliant mind, searching for a label, a neat little box to contain the chaotic, undefined thing that was happening between you. You expected a clinical answer, something like, "We will state that I am your primary benefactor and professional mentor." Instead, he let out a slow, frustrated sigh.

"I... don't know," he admitted, the words quiet and reluctant, as if they were being torn from him. "The data is... inconclusive."

You were about to press him, to tease him about his sudden inability to quantify everything, when the lights in the ballroom dimmed. A spotlight cut through the darkness, landing on the stage at the far end of the room. A distinguished-looking man with a perfect smile stepped up to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to introduce the man whose vision and genius have made Rhodes Hill a beacon of hope and innovation in the medical world, our director, Dr. Victor Gideon."

You felt a surge of pride, a warmth that had nothing to do with the whiskey. This was his world. And he was its king.

Victor straightened his shoulders, his mask of cool, impassive control sliding back into place. He gave you a curt, almost apologetic nod before melting into the crowd and making his way towards the stage. He moved with an easy grace, the guests parting for him as if by an invisible force.

He accepted the microphone, his gaze sweeping over the sea of expectant faces. He didn't smile. He didn't engage in any of the usual pleasantries. He just stood there, a commanding, imposing figure, his silence demanding their attention.

"Thank you," he began, his voice a low, clear rumble that filled the room. "Your support of Rhodes Hill is... appreciated. It allows us to continue our work. To push the boundaries of what is possible." He paused, his gaze shifting, almost imperceptibly, to where you were standing. "But science is not just about what is possible. It's about why. It's about the people we serve. The lives we save. The hope we provide."

He looked away, his expression unreadable again. "Enjoy the live band. Enjoy the open bar. Enjoy the night. You've earned it."

And with that, he handed the microphone back to the host and stepped off the stage, his speech as short, direct, and unexpectedly profound as he was. The band, a polished jazz trio, struck up a lively tune, and the room slowly came back to life.

As Victor made his way down the grand staircase, a younger doctor in a slightly rumpled tuxedo clapped him on the shoulder. "Great speech, Dr. Gideon! Short and to the point. Now, the important question," he said, his voice teasing. "You gonna dance tonight, or are you just gonna brood in the corner like you usually do?"

Victor didn't even break his stride. He just looked at the younger doctor, his expression a mask of cold indifference. "Absolutely," he said, his voice a low, flat rumble that left no room for argument.

He continued down the stairs, his path leading directly to you. You were so taken aback by his response, you didn't even have time to process it before he was standing in front of you, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, his voice a low, formal inquiry.

You stared at him, completely speechless. You had expected him to retreat, to go back to his corner and brood. You had never, in a million years, expected him to... dance. But you could see the challenge in his eyes, the silent dare to prove the younger doctor wrong. To prove to himself that he could.

You took his hand, a small, hesitant gesture that felt like a leap of faith. His hand engulfed yours, his fingers long and strong, a stark, powerful reminder of the raw, physical strength he usually kept so carefully restrained.

He led you onto the dance floor, his movements confident and assured. The band was playing a smooth, sophisticated jazz number, a romantic melody that seemed to envelop you both. He took your other hand, placing it on his shoulder, and his hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you close.

"I didn't know you could dance," you said, your voice a little breathless, your body pressed against the hard, solid lines of his.

"My mother forced me to take lessons when I was a child," he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through your entire being. "She thought it would make me more social. That it would get me away from my books."

You expected him to be good, but you didn't expect him to be this good. He was a revelation. He moved with a natural, easy grace that was both powerful and elegant. He wasn't just following the music; he was interpreting it, his body a perfect instrument of rhythm and flow. Your own basic dance skills were no match for his. You stumbled once, your feet getting tangled, but he just tightened his grip on your back, effortlessly guiding you, his movements so fluid and intuitive you felt as if you were floating.

"You're... really good at this," you said, your head swimming with a dizzying mix of champagne and his overwhelming presence.

He didn't answer. He just pulled you even closer, until there was no space left between you. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your chest, a comforting, grounding rhythm in the swirling chaos of the room. He held you tight to his larger frame, his body a solid, unyielding presence that made you feel safe, protected, and utterly cherished. You were no longer just dancing with him. You were a part of him. And as he twirled you across the floor, a vision of silver and black, you knew, with a certainty that thrilled and terrified you, that this was no longer just an arrangement. This was real.

The world narrowed to the space between your bodies. The jazz trio's melody, the murmur of the crowd, the glittering lights they all faded into a soft, hazy periphery. There was only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your palm, the solid strength of his hand on the small of your back, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingled with the faint, clean smell of his skin.

You were both a little lost in it, moving with a shared, unspoken rhythm that felt more instinctive than learned. The whiskey you'd had earlier, combined with the champagne, was a warm, buzzing fog in your mind, a liquid courage that made you bold. You looked up at him, a playful, daring smile on your lips, and he met your gaze, his golden eyes dark and intense, a flicker of something wild and untamed in their depths. You were both in over your heads, two sober scientists stumbling through the beautiful chaos of a waltz, but neither of you would ever admit it.

Across the room, a whirlwind of black and white moved with a chaotic, infectious energy. Zeno was dancing with both Amber and Chanel, a flurry of laughter and exaggerated spins. He caught sight of you and Victor, a rare, still island of intense intimacy in the sea of dancers. He slowed his movements, his eyes narrowing with a curious, calculating gaze.

"Hey, lover boy, focus," Amber teased, nudging him with her elbow. "You're supposed to be dancing with us, not playing spectator."

"Yeah," Chanel chimed in, her voice a low, sultry purr. "Let the lovebirds have their moment. You're making us feel neglected."

But Zeno wasn't listening. He was watching, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. He saw the way Victor held you, the way you looked at him, the raw, unguarded emotion that was so foreign to his friend. He saw the ice beginning to crack, and he was thrilled.

The song reached its crescendo, a soaring, romantic melody that seemed to lift you off your feet. And then, Victor moved. With a sudden, confident flourish, he spun you out, your silver dress a shimmering blur, and then pulled you back in, the momentum sending you into a deep, dramatic dip.

The world tilted, a dizzying, breathtaking rush. You were completely in his control, your body arched against his, your hair brushing the floor. He held you there, his arm a steel band around your waist, his face just inches from yours. The alcohol, untempered by food, was a potent cocktail, a rush of dizzying adrenaline that made your head spin.

He slowly lifted you back up, your bodies sliding against each other, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You were both breathing heavily, your faces inches apart, the air thick with a tension that was almost unbearable. His golden eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak.

And then, he leaned in.

His lips crashed against yours, a kiss that was anything but clinical. It was hungry, desperate, and raw. It was a kiss born of weeks of suppressed desire, of stolen glances and unspoken tense feelings. It was a kiss that tasted of whiskey and champagne and a longing so profound it made your heart ache.

The click of your high heels against the polished marble of the grand staircase sounded like a ticking clock in the quiet, drafty corridor of Rhodes Hill’s West Wing.

You kept your gaze rigidly fixed on the tablet in your hands, your knuckles white around the edges of the device.

You were only a few months into your employment as Director Gideon’s personal assistant, and you had quickly learned that survival in this position required a flawless shield of professionalism.

You couldn't let yourself look back.

If you looked back, you would be forced to confront the sheer, terrifying reality of the man walking directly behind you.

You were a tall woman yourself, a fact you had never felt the need to hide; even now, with your highest stilettos adding a commanding few inches to your frame, you were used to looking down on most of your peers.

But with Gideon, your height was trivialized. To look at him normally, you were forced to crane your neck back, a perpetual, humbling reminder of just how vastly he eclipsed you.

Even without looking at him now, you could feel the oppressive weight of his presence, the ambient shadow that radiated off his massive frame, and the faint, rhythmic rustle of his expensive, custom-tailored suit.

​"The Q3 pharmaceutical budgets are adjusted, Director," you said, keeping your voice tight and perfectly measured. "But the head nurse in psychiatry is still pushing back on the new sedation protocols. She’s calling the dosages... irregular."

From a step below and directly behind you, a low, wet rumble vibrated in Doctor Gideon’s chest.

​"A minor nuisance looking for attention," he murmured, his voice entirely too close to your shoulder. "Draft her termination papers by this evening. I pay my staff to follow orders, not debate them."

You tried to focus on scrolling through the next file, but you were painfully aware of his shielded his eyes tracking the line of your pencil skirt, the rhythm of your calves as you climbed.

The lack of boundaries in his gaze was suffocating.

"Of course," you replied quickly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You were so busy trying to maintain your posture, so deeply flustered by the suffocating proximity of his shadow that your focus slipped.

The tip of your stiletto caught the sharp lip of the next marble step.

Your foot wrenched sideways with a sickening, internal pop. A white-hot flare of agony shot straight up your calf, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, your balance shattering violently. The tablet slipped from your white-knuckled grip, clattering loudly against the stone as gravity dragged you backward into the void.

Any normal employer would have caught you by the shoulders, or perhaps grabbed your forearms to steady you. But Doctor Victor Gideon was not a normal employer.

His massive hands clamped securely around your midsection, easily spanning its entire width. His thick fingers sank deeply into your soft torso through the fabric of your blouse, making you uncomfortably hyper-aware of how easily your flesh yielded to his grip

"Careful," Gideon crooned, his chest rumbled against your back as he spoke. "I heard the joint pop. Let your weight settle on me."

Your face burned hot, but you immediately forced a layer of crisp, defensive professionalism into your tone.

"I– Thank you, Director. I'm fine, really. If you could... I need to retrieve the tablet. Hopefully, it isn't damaged."

​"Don't try," he urged, his tone shifting into something entirely dictatorial, dripping with a terrifyingly soft pragmatism. "I have no intention of letting your stubbornness turn a simple sprain into a surgical matter."

Effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all, Gideon scooped you completely off your feet.

Your corporate armour was dismantled in that single movement, leaving your legs to dangle uselessly in the air as he hoisted you high against his torso.

​"Sir, please, this is unnecessary, I'm sure I can walk," you insisted, your voice dropping to a sharp, hurried whisper.

"Now now, my dear," Doctor Gideon murmured, his long strides easily swallowing the corridor as he ignored your protests. "Your tablet can be replaced. We are going to my lounge where I can evaluate the damage without an audience."

When he reached his private office, he pushed the heavy mahogany door open with his shoulder, stepping into the dim, luxurious room.

The air here was thick with the same leather and cigar smoke that clung to his suits, a stark contrast to the sterile clinic outside.

Doctor Gideon walked directly over to the dark leather sofa in his lounge area and lowered his frame to deposit you onto the cool cushions.

He didn't immediately tend to your injury.​Instead, he straightened and crossed the room toward his sprawling desk and pressed a button on the sleek intercom system.

​"Send someone to the West Wing staircase." ​The clinical detachment in his tone was a sharp reminder of who he was. "Retrieve my assistant’s tablet and have it brought to my office immediately."

When he turned back to you, his movements became entirely unhurried, his focus locking onto your cornered frame.

With quiet, deliberate precision, he began unbuttoning his tailored blazer, sliding the heavy fabric off his shoulders to drape it over the back of an executive chair.

Watching him shed his layers triggered a confusing, immediate clash of emotions—a dizzying cocktail of intimidation, guilt, and a sudden, sharp spike of attraction that you had no business feeling toward your boss.

You had always assumed his terrifying broadness was the result of clever padding meant to intimidate board members across a conference table.

He didn't wait for a response before cutting the feed. Turning back to you, he made a meticulous show of shedding his corporate armor.

But it wasn't.

​The sheer, imposing mass of him made a heavy wave of dread twist in your gut as a hundred different scenarios suddenly burst into your mind on how he could crush your bones with just his hands.

​Then came a sharp prick of guilt.

Stop it, you chided yourself. It was cruel to think that way.

During onboarding, HR had gently explained that his...peculiarities were the result of radical, life-saving surgeries after a severe illness. He wasn't a monster; he was a survivor.

Not only was it unprofessional to recoil from him, but it was also unkind.

​Yet, you had never been a woman who knew what it felt like to be vulnerable. Your stature, your sharp competence, and your absolute refusal to shrink yourself meant that men were almost universally intimidated by you.

​So, looking at the titan of a man stepping back toward the couch, the intimidation began to melt into a heavy, intoxicating heat.

​You felt utterly microscopic.

It was a deeply foreign, profoundly thrilling sensation to realize that you couldn't dominate this space—that he was simply too massive, too unbothered, and too powerful to be swayed by you.

​Gideon closed the distance, sinking onto his knee before the sofa. But even on his knees, he still loomed over you, his dark visor reflecting your flushed, cornered expression.

"Let us see the damage," he murmured softly.

There was no hesitation when reached out, that massive, rough hand wrapping around the heel of your left stiletto. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he slid the shoe off and discarded it onto the floor.

You expected him to look for the injury. Instead, Victor’s hand slid slowly up from your heel, his wide palm spanning the arch of your foot, his scaled thumbs dragging over the fabric. He leaned lower over your calves, his cool breath cutting straight through the thin material.

"A pity to stifle the heat underneath." he purred under his breath, a faint, dark click of his tongue echoing against the fabric.

Instead, you watched as his thick fingers hooked into the thin material at your calf, and with a sudden, brutal jerk, he ripped the fabric open.

​The sharp, violent shrrrt of tearing nylon echoed loudly in the quiet office, exposing your bare skin from your calf down to your toes.

"Ah–" you gasped.

Your survival instinct flared, and you instinctively tried to yank your leg back, attempting to fold your knees to your chest.

But you didn't even manage to move an inch. The moment your muscle tensed to retreat, Victor’s hand fired out.

His fingers clamped around your bare calf.

He didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but the sheer, immovable density of his palm made it instantly clear that your body was no longer under your own control.

The intimacy of it was disgusting, profoundly unprofessional, and so intensely erotic that a shiver ran straight down your spine.

"Don't pull away from me," he chided smoothly, his voice a low, seductive purr that dripped with effortless authority. "I can't examine the extent of the damage if you're fighting me."

You stared down at him, trying desperately to claw back some semblance of your usual authority. "Was that... necessary?"

​"Entirely," he murmured haphazardly.

His other hand, heavily ringed and patterned with those strange, rigid scales, came up to cradle the sole of your bare foot.

His thumb pressed firmly into the hollows beneath your ankle bone, tracing the path of the lateral ligaments.

"Tell me where the pain localizes," he commanded softly, slowly flexing your foot upward.

A sharp, hot sting flared in your joint. "T-There," you choked out, your fingers gripping the leather cushions of the couch. "Right there."

​"I feel it," his thumb slid over the swelling skin with a slow, lingering pressure. "The ligament is badly stretched, but not torn. You're quite lucky, my dear."

He finally looked up, his dark visor catching the ambient light, hiding his eyes but leaving no doubt that he was staring directly into your flushed face.

​A sharp, hesitant knock at the door shattered the heavy silence.

A spike of pure adrenaline hit your bloodstream.

Every instinct screamed at you to recoil, your thigh muscles tensing into a desperate, futile strain to pull away. But Victor’s grip remained absolute— utterly refusing to let you shrink from view.

​"Enter," Gideon commanded, his voice a smooth, unbothered rumble that easily carried across the vast room.

​The door clicked open, and a junior orderly stepped inside, holding your cracked tablet. "I- um Director, retrieved the—"

The young man's voice died in his throat.

His eyes widened as they darted from your pencil skirt—hitched dangerously high up your thighs—to the violently ripped nylon exposing your bare skin, and finally to the Director kneeling intimately at your feet.

Your stomach churned with panic at the sheer, undeniable humiliation of the sight.

​"On the desk," Gideon instructed, not bothering to look away from your face. "Then leave."

​The orderly practically scrambled to the massive desk, set the tablet down, and fled the office, shutting the door behind him with a definitive, isolating click.

You cleared your throat, clinging to whatever corporate dignity you could scrounge up from this position. "The swelling seems manageable, Doctor. Thank you. If you'll excuse me..." Your gazed flicked upwards, toward the tablet on his table top, almost pleadingly, "I need to get back to my desk to ensure that termination letter is filed before the HR deadline."

​Gideon's thumb pressed firmly against your inflamed ligament, pulling a sharp hiss from your lips and completely shattering your lie.

​"Out of the question," he retorted. "You can execute your duties just as efficiently from this sofa."

​With a smooth, almost arrogant fluidness, he released your foot and began to rise to his full, towering height.

But before he vould straighten, something seemed to catch his eye.

Your gaze followed his massive, ringed hand sweep downward in a casual, fluid arc.

Watched as his fingers brushed the carpet, gathering the shredded scrap of nylon that had torn away from your calf.

He turned his back to you, lazily striding toward his mahogany desk.

​You tracked his retreating form, too stunned to look away, and that was when you saw it.

Even with his back turned, his colossal frame couldn't hide the subtle movement of his arm as he raised his hand, bringing the crumpled piece of your stocking directly to his face.

​A dark, quick flick of his tongue tasted the air, scenting the fabric, drinking in your scent, before he casually pressed the nylon against his lips.

Then, with a fluid, chillingly indifferent motion, he slid the stolen fabric deep into his trouser pocket.

The absolute, perverted audacity left your mouth agape.

What a ​sick fuck.

You forced your jaw shut, a spike of pure survival instinct warning you of what would happen if you dared to acknowledge it.

You desperately tried to convince yourself he was just cleaning the floor, that he meant to throw it away later. But you knew better.

Turning on his heel, he retrieved the cracked tablet from his desk, returned to the sofa, and dropped the device squarely into your lap with a final slap.

​"It is far too early to assume this is a simple sprain," he murmured, his tone dropping into a quiet, heavy register that made the hairs on your arms stand up. He leaned over the back of the cushions, his massive chest trapping you in his shadow. "Soft tissue is deceptive. Left unmonitored, it can degrade quite rapidly. For your own well-being, I require you right where I can see you."

He circled around the back of the sofa, his massive frame effectively blocking the only exit from the room. He leaned over the back of the leather cushions, his shadow eclipsing the light from the office lamps as he settled directly behind you.

​His palm engulfed your shoulder pad, his fingers sinking deep enough to feel the crushing density of his grip through the tailored wool.

​"Open a blank document," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that seemed to bypass your ears and rattle straight into your chest. The ambient hum of his visor whirred like a purr against the shell of your ear, uncomfortably close.

​You froze, the tablet heavy and mocking in your lap. His hand tightened, pinning you to the leather cushions.

​"Let us remind the staff what happens to things that break when they try to step out of my established order," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "I trust you won't make the same mistake."

"Yes... of course..."

Taglist

Chapter 3: He Won't Save You.....Only I Can

Monday came around quicker than you expected. It was as if that whole ordeal on Saturday took up your whole day. And Sunday went by so fast as well that you took a look outside and it was already night time. 

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you stepped out of your car and headed to your office. 

“Good morning Doctor, how was your-Oh!” Diana gasped at the sight of you. 

“Good morning” you yawned sleepily. 

“I'm assuming you got no sleep at all?” 

“How'd you know?” You playfully teased as you entered your office and went to your keurig machine to brew yourself a hot cup of coffee. 

“Mhm” Diana shook her head softly with a smile as she grabbed the IPAD and began to explain the agenda for today.

“Shall we begin?”

“Yeah, I'm listening” you nodded as you grabbed your coffee cup and walked over to your fridge to pour in some creamer. 

“Okay, so the DSO will be arriving shortly to pick up the cadavers for transportation. The lab is going to be under maintenance for at least two days, so, Director Eric wants you to move your work to Lab B. And then-”

“Oh not Lab B, it always smells like deep fried grease in there” you sighed softly, putting your creamer back in your fridge and shutting it. 

“Well, hate to break it to you Doctor, but it didn't seem like he gave you a choice in this decision” she chuckled. 

“Just my fucking luck. What else?” you chuckled along with her. 

“The last thing on the agenda is that Director Eric is going to be making a surprise visit today to discuss the lead on the bio-terrosim report that came from the DSO.”

“What?!” You nearly spit out your coffee upon hearing those words.

Diana's gaze shot up from the IPAD, “What's wrong, Doctor?” She spoke with concern laced in her voice.

“When did he decide this?”

“Uhh-” Diana scrolled through the IPAD. “Looks like yesterday night he sent the order.”

“Of course, the bastard lies and shuts me down when I had brought up the dozens of bodies. But now all of a sudden he has a change of heart” you grumbled, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Then your gaze looked up at Diana who stood there awkwardly. 

“Please don't tell him I called him a bastard.”

“I won't Doctor y/n, I've known you for a long time and I wouldn't dream of selling you out to that asshole.” 

You laughed loudly at what Diana called him. “Thanks.”

“Excuse me, is this Doctor y/n's office?” A man called from the outside of your office. 

“Yes, and you are?” Diana spoke for you. 

“I am Seth Farlow, I am from the DSO agency and I've come to pick up the cadavers.”

“Oh yes, please do follow me.”

As Diana left to show the DSO personnel where the bodies were, a lone man stood just outside your door, watching you carefully.

You didn't notice their obsessive stare as you sat at your desk and continuously drank your coffee. 

“Ah…” the man breathed softly, covering their neck as much as possible. 

“Bring me a lock of her hair…” a voice echoed in his mind. 

“Okay, got it” Seth nodded to Diana as he returned from the lab to brief his team. 

“Philip, you okay?” 

Philip adjusted his stance, “Yeah I'm fine.”

“You sure? You're sweating like crazy brother?”

“I told you I'm fine” Philip brushed aside his worries and followed Seth to enter the labs.

Once Philip was inside, he caught a glimpse of Diedra's lifeless corpse sprawled across one of the examination tables. 

A low rumble escaped his throat as he felt the connection between him and Gideon drag along the synapses of his nervous system.

Glancing back at the DSO disposal crew who were coming up with the plan to move the bodies in an orderly fashion, Philip decided to approach Diedra and search through her pockets. 

“Ah” he mumbled underneath his breath as he pulled out the lock of your hair that Diedra had cut from your head. 

“He will be pleased” he smirked, shoving your hair in his pocket and then walked out of the lab without saying a single word. 

Though, he stopped in front of your office, watching your movements carefully and jotting down pertinent information that he could bring back to Gideon. 

“Can I help you?” Diana stood from her desk. 

“Yes, can you make sure that this envelope goes to Doctor y/n?”

“Oh…of course?”

“Thank you” he flashed her an eerie smile and then left like a ghost in the wind.

“Knock, knock” Diana smiled as she announced herself. 

“Yes?” You smiled, pushing up your glasses slightly because they always seemed to slide down your nose every so often. 

“This is gonna sound weird but this DSO agent asked me to give you this envelope.”

“Really?” You chuckled as you stood from your desk and approached her to take a look at what was inside.

“Yeah, he seemed off too…like he smiled at me in such a creepy way” Diana shrugged and turned to leave your office.

“Maybe he just likes you” you laughed as you peeled off the seal. 

“Honey I'm married, he can try all he wants” Diana laughed at your joke from afar. 

You shook your head softly and slowly pulled out a photo.

Your smile instantly faded at the sight before you. It was a picture of you walking into your workplace, holding your bag, hoodie, and important files.

“What the hell?” you gasped as you dropped the photo on the ground and rushed to Diana's desk. 

“Diana!”

“Woah, you okay sweetie?” she gasped in worry. 

“Who gave you that photo again?”

“A DSO agent. He came in with the disposal team.” 

“Oh my gosh” you quickly rushed down the hall to the elevators.

“Doctor! What's going on?”

“I'll be right back!” 

You rushed towards the elevator and went down to the lobby where the main entrance was. 

You then stepped out of your workplace, your breathing uneven as you searched everywhere to find that man that left the envelope.

“What the hell is going on…?”

“Do you want me to take her now?” 

“No….” Gideon's voice echoed along Philip's ears. 

“I must eliminate the obstacle that is keeping me from fully having her.”

“The obstacle being Leon Kennedy?”

“Yes, once I remove him from the equation, nothing will prevent me from obtaining what is mine.”

Philip's lips curled into Gideon's obsessive smirk as he watched you from afar, his eyes dead set on taking you but he had to remain composed and follow orders. 

You soon grabbed your phone and dialed Leon's number worriedly.

“Hey Leon…I'm sorry to be calling you over and over again. But I need your help.”

Philip growled angrily upon hearing Leon's name slip past your lips so elegantly. It was as if you were in love with him, something that Gideon loathed entirely. 

“She keeps speaking his name, Doctor Gideon. I think we need to act fast before he takes over her life.”

“Agreed. First, I must meet with Zeno to discuss the work that I've accomplished. Once that is done, I can begin subject testing.”

“Understood Doctor Gideon. I will continue monitoring her and Leon. Once I gather enough information, I will bring them to you, along with the lock of her hair.” 

Gideon abruptly stood from his chair at what Philip had said. “You gathered a sample of her hair?” 

“I did.”

Gideon hummed in pleasure that he was soon going to hold a piece of you that he has forever longed for. 

“Excellent work Philip~”

A few minutes passed as you waited patiently on a bench for Leon to arrive at your workplace. “Leon, where are you?” 

Soon enough, a black Porsche came strolling into the parking lot, a sign that Leon had arrived.

“Phew” you smiled happily, standing from the bench and approaching the driver’s side.

“Sorry I’m late y/n, I was checking out the locations that Sherry had sent me” he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned his body to face you. 

“Oh? What locations?”

“The locations that Doctor Gideon might’ve frequented at or owned.” 

Your throat tightened at the sound of Victor's name. “Did you find him yet?”

“No, didn’t get a chance,” he admitted. 

“You okay, though?” his voice softened. “You sounded uneasy on the phone” Leon gently rested his hand upon yours where it sat atop the car door. 

“Want to grab a drink and talk about it?”

Click. Snap. Click 

“I-”

“Y/n?!” 

Quickly turning your head towards the side, you saw your boss heading straight for you with a disappointing expression written across his face. 

“Oh shit..” you gulped as you adjusted your attire and turned to face him.

“Hello Mr. Kennedy” Eric spoke his name with distaste.

“Director Eric, Still making everyone’s day a little brighter, I see.”

“Careful Leon. One call from me to your boss, and you're done.”

A quiet chuckle escaped Leon. “Yeah? Get in line.”

“Eric, I-”

“Y/n, I told you that you can’t be discussing pertinent information with other DSO agents. Listen, I respect you and the work that you do. But….I can’t keep covering for you. And now with this incident with the laboratory doors, I don’t know.”

“But Eric, you have to listen to me! I was not sharing sensitive information to Leon nor was it my fault what happened in the lab!” 

“She’s telling the truth, dick-head” Leon defended you without hesitation. “She called me because someone was threatening her. If you don’t believe me, go pull the security footage.” 

“We did, and you know what we found” Eric turned his attention to Leon. “You, destroying CBR property.”

“What?” You gasped, unable to believe what your boss had said.

Leon’s expression darkened, “You sure about that?” 

Eric folded his arms, “The footage speaks for itself.”

“What footage?” you asked. 

“The footage of Mr. Kennedy’s forced entry into a secured laboratory area.”

Leon scoffed, “Yeah. Because y/n was trapped inside with a woman who tried to kill her.”

Eric’s jaw tightened, “And yet all the cameras show is you breaking down a reinforced security door.”

“Because the cameras conveniently don’t show what happened inside.”

“Conveniently?” Eric repeated. 

“You heard me.”

The tension between them was almost unbearable from where you stood.

“Eric, please” you stepped forward. “Leon came because I called him. He was trying to help me.” 

“And now we’re dealing with damaged laboratory property, a compromised crime scene, and a report that makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes sense because I was there when it happened! When Diedra sliced her own neck and tried to kill me!” you snapped. 

For a brief moment, silence fell over the parking lot. 

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose, “Y/n, I’m trying very hard to help you.” 

“Then listen to me.”

“And I’m trying very hard not to have Internal Affairs breathing down my neck because one of my chief medical examiners is involving outside agents in an active investigation.”

Leon let out a dry chuckle. “Trust me, Director. Nobody here is having a good day.”

Eric shot him a glare, “And you’re not helping.” 

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Something is wrong with the footage, Eric” you interjected, voice firm despite the frustration building inside you. “Professor Diedra was the one that broke down the laboratory door.”

Eric stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, “That’s impossible.”

“It isn’t.”

“The footage shows Leon causing the damage, not her” his gaze briefly shifted toward Leon.

“Unless you’re suggesting that someone tampered with CBR security footage.”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting Eric!” 

“Y/n” Eric signed heavily. “I understand you’re upset.”

“Upset?” you repeated. “A person I’ve known for years tried to kill me!”

“And yet the only evidence I have shows Leon Kennedy forcing entry into a secured laboratory.”

Leon scoffed, “Convenient.”

“What was that?” Eric asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, please. Elaborate.”

Leon’s expression darkened again. “I said it’s convenient.”

The two men stared each other down.

“The camera somehow missed the part where Diedra lost her damn mind.”

Eric let out another deep sigh, “Or perhaps they didn’t.”

Before Leon could respond, you spoke up, “Eric, listen to yourself.” 

“You also knew Diedra for years. She was the one that referred me to you.”

“And I’ve known you for years,” Eric replied. “Which is why I’m trying very hard to understand why you’re defending this story.”

The accusation hit harder than you expected. You couldn’t understand his thought process right now. He had your back since you started and now all of sudden, he wasn’t believing you. 

Far away from the conversation, hidden amongst the departing employees and evening traffic,  Philip watched everything unfold. 

A smile slowly spread across his face or rather….Gideon’s smile. The expression looked wrong on Philip’s features. Unnatural, Predatory. 

Through the hive connection, Gideon observed the scene as if he was standing there himself, watching every frustrated word, every doubtful glance, every crack forming between you and the people trying to help you. 

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest from miles away. Replacing the footage had been the first step. A simple adjustment, a single alteration to the truth. Yet already the consequences were proving delightful.

Eric doubted you. Leon was becoming frustrated. And you….were beginning to question your own reality. That is exactly what Gideon wanted, isolation rather than using force. He wanted to sever the bonds connecting you to those around you, then when the time came, there would be nowhere left for you to run. 

“Excellent…” Gideon murmured to himself.

His fingers slowly traced over one of the photographs Philip had taken of you with his phone. “Just a little longer, my beloved.” 

His smile widened, “Soon, there will be no one left for you to trust but me.”

“Eric…the DSO came to pick up the cadavers. I’m…I’m going to take a few days off with your permission.”

“Alright. Take some time to rest after what happened. But when you return, I want this-” he gestured to the two of you. “To stop.”

As Eric left, soft tears began to drip down your face. You didn’t know what was happening. It was as if your whole life turned upside down the minute Diedra almost tried to kill you.

“Hey…” Leon quickly stepped out of his Porsche and embraced you tightly.

“I don’t know why he didn’t believe me,” you cried softly.

“I don’t know either” his hand rubbed slow circles across your back as he gently rocked you against his chest. 

“Maybe he’s stressed.”

“That’s not helping” you sniffled.

A small chuckle escaped him, “Okay. Then maybe he has a stick up his ass.”

Despite your sadness, you couldn’t help but laugh at his joke. 

“There she is,” he smiled.

“Listen to me, y/n. Whether or not Eric believes you, I believe you. He just doesn’t want to admit the truth that someone probably hacked into his highly secured company and doctored footage.”

“Yeah maybe…thanks Leon” you pulled away from him and wiped your tears with your sleeve.

“Want me to take you home?” he asked, using his thumb to gently push your chin up.

“Please.”

Crash!

“Huh?” you jumped at the sound. “What was that?” 

“Hmm?” Leon looked around the parking lot, trying to locate the origin of the sound. “Must've been a tree snapping?”

There was no tree that snapped. In fact, it was Philip who punched a light post so hard that it came crashing to the ground. He had watched the whole ordeal between you two and Gideon was most displeased. 

After reaching your place, Leon walked you to your door, his hands buried deep in his pockets. 

“You okay?” You asked him, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking about what Eric said….”.

“You shouldn't give it much thought Leon. He, as you put it, has a stick up his ass” you giggled, grabbing your keys and unlocked your front door. 

Leon let out a quiet chuckle, “A big one.”

“Do you wanna come in?” 

Leon looked at you for a moment and then his expression softened. “You don't want to be alone tonight?”

“...No.”

He nodded at your request and gently pulled you in close, “You got some popcorn?”

“Movie night?!” You gasped happily.

“Hell yeah” Leon snickered as he walked you inside your home. 

The minute you two entered your home, Philip quickly took a snapshot of the moment. He was going to gather all that he could for Gideon. 

“I'm returning to your laboratory, Doctor Gideon. I've gathered sufficient photographs of Leon and y/n.”

“Understood.”

After closing the connection between Philip and himself, he exited his lab and proceeded down the halls.

“Doctor Gideon” a voice called as they effortlessly followed beside him. 

“Yes?”

“The integration of the strain has proven successful to the other subjects and we began to test their compliance on an artificial hive connection.”

“And? What were the conclusions?” Gideon sternly questioned. 

“The notes were...’Complete compliance across all subjects with no notable side effects or possible divergence from the connection.’”

Gideon let out a pleasing hum from his chest, “That is excellent work. Did the others test how many subjects a single individual can be connected to?”

“Uh…a moment Doctor” the man searched through the notes on his clipboard. 

“Ah, yes we did test the number of connections. For a single individual, they can be connected to around fifty hosts. However, the minimum of fifty connections can be bypassed as seen here in this diagram” the man turned the clipboard around to show Gideon. 

Gideon paused in his steps to lean down to take a look at the diagram and was impressed by how quickly his subjects worked and gave him results.

“To explain the concept to you Doctor, a singular hive master can connect to fifty hosts or subjects. Those fifty subjects can in turn make their own connections to others using the regurgitation method that Professor Diedra used back at y/n's laboratory.” 

“Impressive.”

“Therefore, those subjects can control others as well, but their goals are aligned with the hive masters' intentions.”

Gideon returned to his original height, a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Excellent…excellent work, Jonathan.” 

“I must admit, I am thoroughly impressed. The integration rate exceeded my expectations."

Jonathan straightened proudly, “Thank you, Doctor.”

He then gestured toward the adjacent laboratory, “Shall we prepare the injection?”

“The serum derived from fifty successful subjects is ready for injection.” 

A low hum escaped Gideon, “Yes.” He folded his hands behind his back. 

“Prepare it immediately” his expression darkened slightly. “And ensure the sample remains refrigerated, the last thing I need is for weeks of work to become compromised.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Jonathan nodded. 

“I'll oversee the preparations personally.”

“Good” Gideon turned towards the hallway so that he could continue walking forward. 

“I must speak with Zeno regarding a matter of importance” a low chuckle escaped him. 

“By the time I return, everything should be ready.”

“It will be, Doctor.” 

Jonathan inclined his head respectively, “We'll be waiting.”

“Excellent. Then today marks another step forward toward evolution” a pleased smile spread across Gideon's face.

“...and she will finally understand what I've built…” he spoke low and excused himself. 

The doors soon slid open with a whoosh as he entered the main hall of his Chronic Care Center. He glanced around, searching for Zeno’s whereabouts. 

“Victor” Zeno’s voice abruptly sounded beside him. 

“Zeno, thank you for taking the time to visit my center again” he glanced down at him. 

“Hm” Zeno returned a small smirk. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”

Giden folded his hands behind his back as he began to explain the progress he had made. 

“I have created a hive connection strain that allows the user to connect to multiple subjects at once. And it allows for those subjects to make connections of their own.”

“So, you're creating an army of obedient subjects that are at your beck and call?”

Gideon frowned, “If you insist on reducing weeks of scientific achievement to such simplistic terms..”.

A smile tugged at the corner of Zeno’s mouth, “I'll take that as a yes.”

Silence followed, then Zeno’s expression became more thoughtful. 

“Interesting. And where does she fit into all of this?”

Gideon's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a tight fist at who Zeno was referring to, you. 

A knowing smile spread across Zeno’s face. “Ah. Creating armies wasn't enough. You want to observe her, get her in a vulnerable state so that she can come crying back to you. Am I getting warmer?” 

“Careful, Zeno.” 

“There he is,” Zeno let out a soft chuckle as he lit a cigarette. 

“You told me that she would create the ultimate strain. That she would be the goddess of death and chaos. But all that I see now and continue seeing is your blatant obsession with her” he let out a puff of smoke. 

“I did promise you that she would, why do you keep doubting my abilities!?”

“Because she isn't here!?” Zeno shouted back at him.

“You think I can simply go to her residence and snatch her up like a lost pup? You are mistaken then.”

“You did with Grace Ashcroft.”

Silence filled the room again as the words he spoke settled in the air like a toxin. 

Gideon's posture slowly straightened as every muscle in his body tensed. 

“Am I wrong?” Zeno turned to face him with an arrogant smirk.

Gideon’s serpent eyes narrowed. 

“You amaze me, Victor” Zeno exhaled another cloud of smoke. 

“Your lies” he stepped forward. 

“Your excuses” his smirked widened further. 

“Your clouded judgement with this girl.”

“You compare her to Grace?” a low growl escaped Gideon's chest. 

“I compare results.”

Gideon let out an angry huff, “She is nothing like Grace.”

“Then prove it. I want her here now. I want to know everything she knows about the Cody Virus. I don't care if you have to drag her unconscious body into this facility….I want my strain.” 

For a moment, Gideon said nothing. His chest rose and fell in steady waves, until a dangerous smile formed at the corner of his lips. 

“You presume I haven't already considered that.”

Zeno’s smirk faltered faster than it appeared. 

“The difference between us…” his eyes gleamed. “...is that I understand her.”

His smile widened further than it could, “You see an asset,” his voice lowered. “A resource to exploit.”

“But y/n has never responded well to force” he chuckled. 

“Pressure creates resistance” a low hum escaped him, his hands folded carefully behind his back. “Trust creates cooperation.”

Zeno stared, unimpressed by his words, “Trust?” He laughed

“How exactly do you intend to build trust when you are going to abduct her from the comfort of her own home?”

Gideon's smile vanished from his face as irritation flickered behind his pale eyes.

“A bargaining chip” Gideon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. 

Without a word, he tossed it onto the floor between them.

Zeno glanced downward, curiosity briefly crossing his face. He bent down and picked it up, a soft huff escaping him. 

“Mr. Kennedy….”.

A low, venomous growl rumbled in Gideon’s chest, “Leon Kennedy has become….problematic.”

“Jealous, Victor?” Zeno smirked. 

“No.” His answer came too quickly and sharply, which only made Zeno’s grin widen. 

“She trusts him,” his gaze darkened. “Listens to him”. 

“And that makes him dangerous.”

Zeno studied the photograph, “You intend to use him?”

“I intend to remove an obstacle” his words came out cold and measured. 

“Y/n has always cared too deeply for others” his eyes lingered on the photograph. “If she believes he's in danger…”

A faint smile returned to Gideon.

“....she will come to me willingly.”

Zeno let out a dark chuckle, using the tip of his cigarette to singe the corner of the photograph. 

The image blackened and curled, until it dropped to the floor where he crushed it beneath his heel.

“And after that?”

After a moment of silence, Gideon took a breath in, “I will show her the truth.”

Zeno raised a curious brow, “The truth?”

“That everyone eventually leaves. Everyone disappoints. But I never did.”

“Once she sees the world for what it truly is…” his gaze drifted towards the laboratory doors. 

“...she'll understand that I was the only one who never stopped searching for her.”

“So, it was never about evolution, wasn't it?”

“No.”

“It was always about bringing her home.”

Gideon's head turned slowly to Zeno, his expression darkening within seconds. “She is everything. The special one…my special one.” 

“You wouldn't understand because you view everything as a tool. A resource. Something to be exploited and discarded when it has outlived its usefulness.”

Gideon let out a soft chuckle as he approached the same doors he entered from, “Once I'm finished here, we need to take a flight to Valdelobos, Spain.”

“Why?” 

Gideon paused in his tracks, slowly glancing over his shoulder. “Because that's where Leon Kennedy was first introduced to Las Plagas. And….” He let out an insatiable groan. 

“....that's where I can ensure that he has no way of returning home.” 

Zeno nodded as he grabbed his phone, “I'll make the arrangements then.”

Without another word, Gideon entered through the doors to head down the halls to the lab to begin the injections. 

“Decent movie” Leon yawned, stretching out his arms. 

“Mmm” you nodded, resting your head on his shoulder and your hands against his chest. 

Leon glanced down at you, a small smile peering across his lips. “Hm, someone's tired.”

“Yeah..” You sleepily spoke. 

“Come on then” he chuckled, setting the empty popcorn bowl on the table in front of him and hooked his arm underneath your knees. 

He carried you up the stairs and towards your bedroom, gently laying you down by your stuffed warriors and tucked you in. 

“G'night kiddo” he whispered close to your ear before seeing himself out.

After trailing down the hallway and down the stairs, he shut off your television and grabbed the popcorn bowl to wash. 

While in the kitchen, he scrubbed away at the buttery streaks that littered the bottom of the bowl. But his mind kept drifting back to this Doctor Gideon. Who was he really? Did he have any connection to y/n? Why was he so difficult to find?

Suddenly, a knock came upon your front door. 

“Huh, it's the middle of the fucking night. Who the hell is delivering packages this late?” 

Quickly shutting off the water, he set the soapy bowl in the sink, dried his hands, and rushed to the front door. 

“Hello?” he called, but noticed no one was there.

“That's strange” Leon shrugged, about to close the door but noticed a package just beneath his feet. 

Bending down to pick up the package, he looked at the label, his brows narrowing in suspicion. This wasn't an ordinary package delivered by a corporation, it was a personal package, designed specifically for you. 

Leon turned at his heels and entered your home with the package, making sure to close and lock the door behind him. 

As he entered the living room, he set the package down on the coffee table and grabbed his hunting knife. 

Using slow and careful movements, he cut the tape at the top of the box, making sure not to pierce too deep to puncture anything that could release any toxins.

Once the tape was fully cut, Leon opened the box and noticed the contents. It was a stuffed bear dressed in a medical uniform and a box of chocolates. 

“What the hell?” He reached down to grab the stuffed bear, examining it for anything out of the ordinary. 

“Who's knocking so late at night?” Your groggy voice echoed along his ears. 

“Hey sleepy head. It was just someone dropping off a package for you.”

“A package?” You rubbed your eyes and approached beside him.

“Oh my gosh, look at this cute little fellow!” You giggled, snatching the teddy bear from Leon's hands and cuddled close to it. 

“They also brought you chocolates.”

“Really?” You gasped, looking down in the box and pulled out your favorite type of chocolate. “Awww these are my favorite.” 

“Hmm seems like you have a secret admirer” Leon playfully teased you as he sheathed his knife. 

“I doubt that, maybe it's just-” you paused when you saw what else was in the box. 

“Y/n? You okay?”

You slowly set your teddy bear and box of chocolates down and grabbed the photo at the bottom of the box. 

Shock was written across your face as you carefully examined it.

“What is it?” He inched closer to you and glanced down at the photo, his heart sinking deep into his chest. 

“Leon…it's a picture of you…and me….from today” your voice trembled. 

“What the hell?” Leon took a hold of the photo and read the message that was written across the top. 

“Mr. Kennedy, has anyone ever taught you to not meddle in affairs that do not concern you?” 

“This keeps getting weirder and weirder, Leon” you walked around your coffee table and sat down on your couch. 

“Listen, I need you to stay inside for the time being while you're on your break from work.” 

“What? But what about getting groceries or…like..helping you with the investigation?”

“I will bring your groceries, just message me what you need. As for the investigation, I can't let you come with me.”

“What?!” You shot up from your couch cushion. “But Leon, I thought we were doing this together?”

“We were, but that all changed when you almost got murdered by someone you knew.”

“Okay, but you were there to save me.”

“Y/n….what if I can’t get to you in time?” he paused in his words as he set the photo down and approached you. 

“Leon I-”

“I can’t lose you…” he whispered, holding onto your shoulders tightly. “...especially now when these things are showing up at your door, unannounced.” 

“So what, I’m on a fucking house arrest? What if these fuckers come to my house and try to kidnap me? I’m better off being close to you than away from you, Leon!”

“No…” he released your shoulders and turned to head to your front door. “I’m going to send two DSO agents here so that they can monitor outside your home. Please try not to go outside.” 

As Leon exited your home, you swept everything that was on the coffee table onto the floor as a boiling rage filled you. “What the fuck has gotten into him?!”

“Sherry? Yeah….we have a problem. I think whoever this Doctor Gideon is….is targeting y/n.” 

The next day arrived as usual as you stood in your kitchen, cooking yourself some eggs and bacon, still hurt by how Leon left you last night. You knew he was doing what was best for you, but you felt that if you were closer to him, you could be protected while also providing him as much support as possible. 

Glancing back at your living room, you noticed the stuffed bear and box of chocolates still resting on the floor where you had left it. 

Your face scrunched up in anger as you finished cooking, set the food on a plate, and stormed into your living room. 

You gathered everything up, including the box and picture and headed outside of your home to toss it in your garbage. 

“Fucker…” you murmured underneath your breath as you tossed it in your garbage and slammed the lid shut. 

You let out a deep sorrowful sigh and turned to head back into your house. You didn't want to throw those things out, especially the teddy bear. But whoever had sent it, was clearly threatening Leon. 

“Y/n!” familiar voices called to you. 

“Huh?” you gasped, turning around and noticed Ben and Xander trotting towards you with boxes. 

“What the heck are you two doing here?” you laughed. 

“Phew” Xander set the box down in front of you, Ben doing the same. 

“We heard what happened at the lab from Diana and wanted to check to see if you were okay?” Ben smiled.

“No, I wanted to check on her and you just wanted to call her” Xander crossed his arms. 

“Shut the fuck up!” 

You let out a soft giggle and glanced down at the boxes. “Thank you guys but…what's with the boxes?” 

“Oh, since you are going to be on a break for a little while, we wanted to bring you the files from your office in regard to the bodies we did autopsies on.”

“Oh…Eric didn't give you any trouble?” 

“No…I mean…” Xander rubbed the back of his head worriedly. 

“We got fired,” Ben bluntly said.

“What?!” You shouted. “Why?!”

“This fluffy bastard broke into the restricted area and took classified files.”

“Xander….”

“Hey! I was trying to help you out, y/n! It wasn't my fault that those bastards are keeping so much from you.”

“What?” You questioned in worry.

“Guys, not here, can we go inside?” Ben tried to act secretive because who knows who was listening. 

“Right…come on.”

After they got inside, you paced back and forth as you read the files in the box. 

“Mm man this bacon tastes amazing” Xander hummed hungrily.

“Shh…” Ben scolded him as his attention turned to you. 

“You guys didn't need to get yourselves fired for this.”

“It's not a problem y/n, we would do anything for you. You literally hired us for goodness sake. Gave us the clothes on our backs” Ben spoke with appreciation of all that you did for him and Xander. 

“Yeah” Xander joined in on the praise while continuously munching on some bacon. 

You flashed them a smile, remembering that day like it was yesterday. 

They were two interns interviewing to be your lab assistant. Ben was kind and always followed the rules to the dot. Xander was a bit head strong and loved to crack jokes, but his eye for detail was marvelous. 

You were torn on who to hire because it had to be a singular individual. You were going to hire only Ben, but then you decided to call your boss to your workplace to show him that you needed these two. 

You spoke highly of the two, how they both completed each other and that their skills were beyond other interviewees. 

He was reluctant at first, but decided to agree after finding their backgrounds to be of excellent material. And because Diedra spoke highly of you and your abilities. 

“But why would they hide this from me?”

“Which document is that?” Ben asked.

“It's about my previous research. But it was completely sealed. No one should have access to this?”

“No one should, that's why we got copies of the reports. Someone accessed those restricted files without Director Eric's knowledge.”

“What…?”

“That's why he didn't tell you. Because there is a huge leak in the department and they are trying to figure out who.” 

“They want to keep it off the record so that they won't lose their government funding” you tsked. 

“That or……they're trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By not informing me of something that is important to me?”

Xander grabbed a napkin carefully, looking at you with soft eyes, “Y/n…”.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Xander was the first to stand after cleaning his hands of the bacon grease and approached you slowly. “Diana and Walter….they….they were murdered last night….”.

“No…” your heart sunk deep in your chest, tears forming in your eyes. 

“She called us last night, to let us know that you were going to be on break for a while and that you were in danger. So, we asked her if we could go to the office to gather some of your things and important files in case someone tried to use them against you.”

“And…” you let out a shaky breath. 

“They were fine when we hung up the phone….until we found their butchered corpses hanging from the fluorescent laboratory lights..”.

“No!” You screamed, feeling light in your legs. 

Xander quickly jumped towards you and caught you before you fell. 

“But…why….what…” you gripped onto him tightly, not understanding what was happening. 

“That's why we got fired…because we broke into the restricted area to get you everything you need to find the son of a bitch who's been doing this” Ben approached beside you to embrace you with Xander. 

“Why would they kill them? What purpose does that serve?!”

“I'm guessing when they didn't get the answers they wanted….they butchered them…”.

“But we know they were after you y/n…they wanted to know everything about you. What you did there, the experiments you ran, every single detail of your personal life” Xander rubbed your back softly. 

“They even ransacked your office. Important files were taken from your desk…”. 

“What?!” You pulled away from his chest to look at them both in utter shock. 

“Yeah, Eric's too much of a coward to tell you that you're in danger and prefers to keep you in the dark. But I know he should've at least told you that you need to be careful” Ben admitted.

You pulled away from Xander for a second to grab a napkin to wipe your tear stained face. “I think I know who did this…”.

“Who?” both said in unison. 

You shook your head softly and pulled away from them, “Someone I used to know and I'll leave at that because I don't want you two to be next.”

“No, we have to know y/n, so we can protect you” Xander pleaded with you. 

“She's right Xander…if we want to keep staying alive we have to stay neutral” Ben gently placed his hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

“I'll be okay, Xander. I just…can't let you two die because of me.”

“Philip” a low voice called to him.

“Yes, Doctor Gideon?” Philip stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back in respect. 

“Where are the photographs?” Gideon slowly approached him. 

“Right here” Philip turned around to grab the photos from his satchel bag and handed them to him. 

Gideon accepted the photographs from Philip, studying each one with meticulous precision. “Hmm” his thumb traced over one of the images. 

“Leon seems to have made himself rather….indispensible” he looked down at him, his expression as rigid as stone. 

“Philip.” 

“Yes Doctor, I know what you’re thinking…but I have promising updates” he lowered his head respectfully. 

“Enlighten me on the ‘updates,’ Philip” Gideon set down the photos beside him on the laboratory table and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“I successfully delivered the package to y/n’s residence, just as you instructed.” 

He paused for a second. 

“I also visited her workplace and gathered several of her personal items.” 

A faint smile tugged at Gideon’s lips. 

“And?”

 Philip hesitated briefly, “Two individuals who were close to her…” his voice remained steady. “...have been permanently removed from your path, Doctor.” 

A slow, agonizingly perfect smile stretched across Gideon’s face, radiating a charm that felt less like warmth and more like a closing trap. 

Without raising his voice, he raised his arm and motioned with his two fingers to someone in the room. 

Philip turned his head towards the direction of Gideon’s gesture and noticed three individuals approaching. 

“I want the pressure increased” his tone remained calm and measured. “I do not care how you accomplish it. I want certainty in her life to begin unraveling” he slowly paced before them. 

“I want doubt, a seed planted here, a coincidence there, a familiar face acting….unfamiliar” he stopped walking. 

“When the time is right…..she will begin questioning everyone around her.” 

Gideon’s attention drifted towards one of the photographs resting upon the table that had Leon standing beside you with a smile on his face. 

The mere sight of him holding you caused his expression to harden. 

“And Leon….” a quiet chuckle escaped him. “He believes he is protecting her” his smile returned. 

“How admirable” his amusement vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I want that confidence dismantled. Not through brute force, through failure” he looked back at the three subjects.

“When she is alone…..when she begins questioning everything she believes…” his voice lowered. 

“Notify me” a dangerous calm settled over the room. “I will speak to her myself, no one understands her as I do.”

The room remained deathly quiet, the three individuals attentively listening to their ‘hive’ master. 

“And hear me well” Gideon’s gaze sharpened and the warmth in his voice disappeared entirely. 

“If any one of you so much as lays a hand upon her without my express permission…” he approached them with his towering figure. 

“....your final breath will belong to me.” 

None of them spoke, but understood their orders and the consequences that beheld them if they failed. 

After several agonizing seconds, Gideon gave a slight nod. “Go.” 

The three subjects turned immediately and disappeared into the maze of corridors. 

Philip remained behind, watching, waiting. 

Gideon picked up the singular photograph of you, his thumb brushing lightly across your smiling face. 

“Just a little longer….” his voice barely rose above a whisper. “My beloved.”

Philip then turned towards his satchel and pulled out the remaining items that he had taken from your office and the lock of your hair. 

Gideon glanced over to his direction and examined the items that lay scattered across the table. “She is just as I remembered her~” he chuckled as he took a hold of [Your favorite item or object]. 

“Phew, okay, in and out” you pulled up your hoodie and stepped out of your car into the pouring rain. 

With a little help from an old hacker buddy of yours, you copied Leon’s messages from Sherry of places that had Victor’s LKL. You knew that this was a crazy overstep, but you had to help Leon, especially when he had a target on his back. 

“Okay, no going back now….” you locked your car and rushed towards an opening in the metal fences.

“What the hell do you mean you lost her?!” Leon shouted through his phone.

“I’m sorry sir, we tracked her leaving her house at 2:40 pm…but lost her at the intersection.”

“Fuck me…” Leon hung up the call, his hand curling into a worried fist. “Dammit y/n, what the hell are you doing?” 

“Apparently, Victor was last seen here five months ago gathering something” you murmured to yourself as you approached the doors of the building and used your flashlight to get a look inside as the rain poured above you.

“Looks abandoned” you shrugged, grabbing the door handle and opening it, the sound of its hinges screeching along your ears.

“Needs some WD-40” you joked, trying to self-soothe because you were a nervous wreck. 

Letting the rusted door close on its own, you continued down the halls of the abandoned Chronic Care Center that Victor used to work at. You raised your arm slightly, using the flashlight to illuminate your way through the center. 

“Ugh” you growled in disgust at the sight of mushrooms growing on bodies that lay scattered along the floor. “What the hell was going on here?” 

You soon arrived at an office scattered with papers and decided to start looking there. But as you entered, you shined your light around, noticing that nature had taken its course. 

“Jeez, what the hell is this?” You questioned, noticing the hardened vines. 

Trying to maneuver as best as possible, you hopped over a couple of them to get to the back. 

“Made it!” You chuckled, looking around with your flashlight again, searching through piles of paper and other things that could help you find where Victor could have ended up? 

Although, as you looked around, a soft sliding sound could be heard behind you, as if something was dragging itself along the eroded floors.

“Huh…this says that Doctor Gideon had to close this center due to the mutated growth of plant life? And that all staff are to be relocated to-” you gasped, trying to figure out where he would be right now, but the piece of paper was torn away in the exact spot where the location was listed. 

“Dammit!” You tossed the paper, rubbing your face in frustration. 

“I guess I gotta keep looking.”

A low hungry growl slowly erupted from behind you, sending a wave of chills down your spine. 

Turning your head slowly to see what was making that sound, your heart sunk in your chest at a flower with sharp teeth staring directly at you. 

“Oh shit..” You quickly scrambled to your feet to try to run but it caught you in its softer vines. 

“Ah! Let go!” You screamed as it bound your legs and held your wrists above your head. 

“No, stop it- Mmm!” You struggled against it as it silenced you. 

The plant creature grumbled hungrily as its flower leaned close to you, trying to assess how ripe you were. 

Watching it with fear, you shut your eyes tightly, preparing for it to devour you whole. But as you waited, nothing seemed to happen. 

All of a sudden, the softer vines began to caress your body, forcing a soft whimper out of you. “Mm…mm!” 

The plant creature snickered at the sounds you made, enticing it to continue doing more bizarre behaviors. 

“Mm..mmm” you cried out as two vines tore off your hoodie and your shirt, leaving you semi-exposed. 

You continued struggling as much as you could as one of the vines slithered up your stomach and pushed its way past your bra.

“Mmmm!!” You arched your head back, your legs shaking uncontrollably at this unwanted touch. 

You shook your head, trying to understand what was going on? Why was this plant creature doing this? Wasn't it going to eat you? 

The vines curled around your bosom, flicking carefully at your sensitive buds. 

“Mm..” You let out a soft moan, feeling a strange feeling rising deep within you. 

CLICK…BANG!

You winced as you were dropped to the floor by the plant creature, its body releasing an agonizing screech. 

“Come on!” an unfamiliar male voice called to you. 

You quickly looked up and jumped to your feet, rushing towards him as quickly as you could. 

The man fired another shot and grabbed your hand to pull you towards a safe area. 

The plant creature tore through the walls chasing after you two, trying its very best to grab you. 

“Ah!” You screamed as it almost took your head clean off when it side-swiped the ceiling above you. 

“Keep running!” The man fired another shot and then dragged you down the corridor that led to the lab. 

The creature paused in its tracks, a low growl erupting from deep within it and then it slithered away. 

You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath after nearly getting eaten, fucked, and murdered by a damn mutated plant. 

“Why…why didn't it follow us?” 

“Because it's scared of whatever is in the lab down below” the man reloaded his weapon. 

“There's a lab in this place?” You questioned curiously. 

“Yeah, but it's not a good idea to go down there.”

“Why?” 

“You sure ask a lot of questions without so much as a thank you.”

You let out a soft sigh as you grabbed your head, “I'm sorry, thank you…for saving me.”

“Hm, no problem doll face” he unzipped his jacket and handed it to you. “Might wanna wear that before that plant creature catches your scent again.”

“Oh…thanks...” you blushed deeply, pulling on his jacket and zipping it up to cover your exposed upper half. 

“So, why did that creature want to fuck me?” The words were out of your mouth before you even had a second to process how absurd the question sounded.

The man let out a soft chuckle, “These mutated plants have different instincts. Some hunt and kill for hunger while others tease their food and devour their….well um…orgasms.”

“What the fuck?” 

“I know, it sounds strange. But these plants have had a chance to undergo evolutionary changes to help them survive. This place has been abandoned for months, so it was only a matter of time before they started to adapt and get creative in finding other sources of food.” 

“That’s impossible” you shook your head in disbelief. “How could plants like that have the possibility to undergo significant evolutionary changes in a few months? Usually that takes years?” 

“You’ll have to thank Doctor Victor Gideon for that. The one who created this shithole” the man spit on the ground in disgust. 

Your stomach churred at the mention of Victor’s name again. “I see…”. 

“So, care to explain why you are exploring an abandoned Care Center all by yourself?”

“I should ask the same about you, Mr.?” you crossed your arms. 

“Phonex. And my business here is classified to outsiders." 

“Huh, if it's classified, why should I tell you my reason for being here or my name?” 

Phonex smiled at your response and tilted his head to the side slightly, “You don't have to tell me anything doll face. I'm just curious.” 

“My name is y/n” you flashed him a smile and turned to face the stairs that led deep into the lab. 

“Woah, woah! What are you doing?”

“I'm going down there. I want to see what exactly Doctor Gideon was doing.”

“Are you insane? If that big ass creature outside doesn't want to go down there, why should you?” Phonex shrugged. 

“Because…I have to find out where he is. He's….doing so much harm to the people I love and-” 

Phonex raised his index finger and shook it after hearing what you said, “You know him personally, don't you?”

You slowly looked down, ashamed that you once knew him. But he was different back then. Filled with so much joy and love for the world.

“Yes I knew him. Which is why I have to put a stop to this. I can't let him continue to hurt others.” 

Phonex nodded in respect and checked his weapon to see if it was loaded. “Then let's get your answers.” 

You smiled softly, shocked to find that this stranger was willing to go to the depths of hell to help you put an end to the madness that Gideon was causing.

“Thank you.”

“Alright, alright, don't get all mushy with me” he chuckled, heading down the stairs first so he could scope out the area for any hostiles.

Following closely behind him, you took in the area before you. There was dried blood splattered across the plain walls along with broken vials and syringes on the floor. It looked like a massacre happened here.

“Huh..” You paused in your tracks as you approached a desk that had cabinets. 

As you searched them, you found a document that had pertinent information of Gideon's location.

“Ha, he's located at the Chronic Hill Care Center?” You quickly grabbed your phone from your back pocket and began to take photos. 

Phonex continued further down the lab and noticed a secured area. “Hey, doll face, come check this out.” 

“Coming” you set the paper back in its drawer and rushed towards him. 

“Now don't you find this a little suspicious?”

“What do you mean?” You asked with confusion in your voice. 

“This place has been abandoned for months, everything is either damaged or so old that if you touch it, it'll turn to ash.”

“Okay?”

“So, why the fuck does this door have power still and looks brand new?”

“You're right” you gasped, touching the door gently. 

“Please input a blood sample” a robotic woman's voice rang out.

“Blood sample?” Phonex questioned, glancing down at the needle that protruded from the wall. 

“What blood sample is she-” you squeaked as Phonex grabbed your wrist and slammed the palm of your hand against the needle. 

“Ah!” You winced, feeling a sharp radiant pain shoot through your arm.

Once Phonex released your hand, he noticed the lights on the door turning green and slowly opening. 

“What the hell was that for?!” You clutched your hand in pain. 

“Sorry, I just remembered you said that you had a connection with Doctor Gideon, so I assumed he would use your genetic signature.” 

“Warn me next time at least” you let out a sigh of annoyance and proceeded further into the lab. 

As you two followed the corridor, there were other rooms that contained brand new medical equipment. Some even had live specimens that were being experimented on. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” You gripped your chest worriedly until you entered a singular room that looked like an office. 

“Seems cozy” Phonex commented as he began to search through the books and other items. 

You, on the other hand, approached the desk and pressed the ‘enter’ button on the computer. 

“Say hi y/n!” Victor's kind voice spoke through the speaker.

“No, come on! I have cake all over my face!” Your voice from years ago laughed. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you sat down on the chair and watched the video that Victor had taken of you two on your birthday.

“Happy birthday beloved!” 

“Victor! Oh my gosh, you shouldn't have!” Your old self hugged him in the video after he had given you a necklace that had the Rod of Asclepius. 

“Anything for you, y/n.”

Soft tears dripped down your cheek once the video shut off. “Victor…” you whispered his name as if he was there. 

“Hey…you okay?” Phonex awkwardly asked, approaching beside you to rest his hand on your shoulder. 

“No…I…..I miss him…but…he's..hurt so many people…people that I love” you cried. 

“I see…” he nodded, removing his hand from your shoulder to give you some space. 

When you felt the weight of his hand leave your shoulder, you decided to check the computer for anything else that Victor had left. 

Soon enough, another video popped up and you clicked on it. 

“Hello. My name is Doctor Victor Gideon and today we will begin experimenting on sialis Derto, the common flower” Gideon smiled as he approached the flower and applied two drops of an unknown liquid. 

Soon enough, the flower began to grow vines and expand exponentially. 

“Doctor, it's growing too much! We need to initiate lockdown protocols!” One of his lab assistants worriedly spoke. 

“Wait, wait!” Gideon told them to relax as he approached the towering flower before him.

“There we are. Good boy” he hummed softly, grabbing a rotten carcass he had brought with him and handing it to the flower. 

The flower sniffed it cautiously before devouring it whole in one gulp. It soon purred pleasantly and nuzzled its petals against Gideon. 

“You see gentlemen, ladies” Gideon bowed his head to his one female assistant. “Once you prove to these glorious creatures that you mean no harm….they will let you in.” 

You couldn't believe your eyes at what you saw. It was magnificent but also terrifying to see such intelligence from Victor. 

“I told you he was the one that created that freaky thing from upstairs” Phonex commented, shaking his head in disappointment. 

You remained silent as you typed away at the computer, trying to find more information on Victor. 

Suddenly, the doors to the office shut and the floor beneath you began to move like an enormous elevator. 

“What the hell?” Phonex gasped as he held his weapon close.

“Oh shit..” You gasped as you realized there was something deeper in the Center. 

Once the elevator stopped, you rushed out of the room and down the hall. 

“Y/n wait!” Phonex called after you.

You soon arrived at this strange wall that had a graduated Erlenmeyer flask of some sort of virus within it. 

“Oh my gosh…I think I know what this is.” 

“What is it?” Phonex asked while out of breath. 

“It's a strain of virus that allows the user to be in a hive connection with thousands of hosts.” 

“No, it can't be. This serum was used on that plant, remember? From the video?”

“Yes, but he refined it. This is the original strain. The one that can impose significant damage to a major population of people.” 

“I'm sorry, I'm so fucking confused right now. How do you even know this?”

“Because I know him! Victor was always obsessed with control and evolution….” You turned towards him, tears swelling in your eyes. 

“This virus strain can be manipulated into anything that you want. It does however, have a major genetic factor of control within its genome, which is a suitable strain to create a hive connection. But it still can be created into any virus you wish, toxic or therapeutic.” 

“This can't be fucking real” Phonex approached closer to the flask to examine it further.

“Yeah…” you quickly grabbed the flask and held it in the air, about to destroy it so that Victor nor anyone could have such power in their hands. 

“Wait” Phonex grabbed your wrist before you could break it. 

“What are you doing? I need to destroy this sample.”

Phonex let out a soft sigh as he grabbed his gun from his holster and pressed it against your temple. “I'm sorry, doll face, I need that virus.”

“You bastard…you knew exactly who I was…didn't you?”

Phonex smiled softly as he took a hold of the flask in your hands, “I did and I needed your blood for this to work.”

“Why are you doing this? That virus could kill millions if manipulated into a toxin…”. 

"I have my orders," he sighed softly.

With a reluctant motion, he holstered his weapon before retrieving a small vial from his belt. Carefully, he poured the strain into it, ensuring not a single drop was wasted.

Once he was finished, he casually tossed the empty flask onto the floor. It shattered upon impact, shards of glass scattering across the laboratory tiles.

He then secured the filled vial inside his holster before returning his attention towards you.

“You're a fucking monster” you shook your head, wanting to charge at him but it was no use. 

“Come on, let's get you out of here” he offered to lead you outside the Center. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I said let’s go! Unless you want to be eaten by that fucking monstrosity out there?” he forcefully grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the direction of the platform that you descended from.

“Stop! You’re hurting me!” you cried out in pain until you noticed an unfamiliar figure stepping into view. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Phonex released your wrist and pulled out his weapon. 

A soft chuckle escaped the stranger’s lips, their head slowly tilted to one side, “Hmm..”.

“I see you continue surrounding yourself with….inferior individuals, my beloved” their smile widened unnaturally. 

“Victor...” you murmured underneath your breath as you slowly stepped backwards, fear written across your face. 

Phonex glanced back at you, noticing your subtle step backwards and a shift in your expression. “Shit…” his head snapped towards the direction of the stranger and held firm in his stance. 

“Where is he?” 

“Who?” Phonex responded, assuming he was talking to him. 

The stranger noticed the color drain from your face, a slow knowing smile spread across his lips. “Ah…” 

A quiet chuckled escaped him, “So your white knight has left you all alone…what a tragedy~”

Behind him, a deep, rumbling growl echoed throughout the corridor. The grotesque flower creature twisted its massive body, vines scraping against the reinforced doorway as it forced its way inside. 

“Fuck..” Phonex broke his stance and slowly walked backwards. 

“Tell me, my beloved….how many times must Leon Kennedy fail before you understand?” 

The stranger took another step closer. 

“He cannot protect you. He never could” His expression softened into something almost affectionate.

“But I can. I have always been the one willing to cross every boundary for you” he chuckled.

“Why do you insist on fearing the only man who has never stopped searching for you?” 

Your chest tightened, “No…..I’ll never believe you” your voice trembled.

The stranger signed, almost disappointed. “You will,” he smiled again. “In time.” 

“No! Phonex watch out!” you cried out.

The creature lunged, its vines lashing towards him like whips.

Phonex threw himself aside, narrowly avoiding the first strike before raising his weapon. Several shots rang throughout the room as the rounds tore into the creature’s flesh, but it barely reacted. It kept advancing. 

“What the hell are you?!” Phonex growled. 

Another vine shot towards him, slicing it away with his combat knife before firing again.

For a brief moment, it looked as though he had gained the upper hand, but a massive vine tore through the air with terrifying speed and pierced his head. 

“Phonex!” You screamed. 

Phonex fell to his knees in defeat and slumped limp onto his side, blood pooling around him. 

“As predictable as ever,” the stranger murmured. 

The flower creature slowly turned towards you, its vines coiling around your wrists and waist before lifting you effortlessly from the floor. 

“Ah!” you cried, struggling as your back struck the cold concrete wall. 

The vines tightened just enough to keep you pinned in place, preventing you from moving or running. 

The stranger approached with slow, deliberate footsteps, each one echoing through the room. 

When he finally stood before you, he tilted his head ever so slightly.

The smile on his face wasn’t his own anymore, it was Victor’s. “My beloved~” 

You turned your gaze away from him, unwilling to meet his eyes after all the pain he has brought upon you. 

The stranger only leaned closer, his lips hovering inches from your ear, “I can make all of this stop.”

You whimpered softly, his low voice sending a wave of chills down your spine. 

“No more running. No more bloodshed. No more people dying because they chose to stand between us.”

“Please….I want this to end…” you begged, tears filling your eyes again. 

“I can end it. But once you accept the truth that Leon Kennedy is not coming. That he isn’t here. And that he has failed to protect you.” 

“I won’t” you shot a defying glance at him. 

The vines tightened their grip on you, sending a sharp pain through your body. “Ah!” 

“Tell me that I am the only one that can protect you” he brushed his cheek against your face.

“N-No…” your voice trembled.

“You are still clinging to hope?” He pulled away from you. “Look around you y/n!” he gestured towards Phonex’s corpse. 

“How many more people must die before you realize what your faith in him has cost?

You let out a defeated whimper, shutting your eyes tightly, wishing that this was a nightmare. 

“Tell me….who will save you now?”

The answer caught in your throat as you tried to think of ways to escape this endeavor. But with the last ounce of strength within you, you looked up at him, not with trust, not with love, not with hope, only exhaustion. 

“You…”. 

The camera which is pointedly set up in your direction stares at you unblinking, a constant and wicked source of anxiety as the little red right flashes constantly. Its rhythm is enough to keep your anxiety thrumming away higher than necessary as you can’t help but peek at it and wonder just what Victor plans to do with these recordings.

But, your hesitation over the recorded sessions is almost insignificant compared to the genuine fear which seizes your body every time you glance at the neat stack of needles which sit on the medical tray beside the chair you are so thoroughly held against. Exposure therapy is what Victor is calling it and your ongoing therapies are a source of constant misery.

Restrained by a wide cloth band which secures you into place against the medical chair you are currently seated upon, your position is made even more difficult to wriggle free from due to the bands which also circle your ankles and wrists to keep them pinned firmly against the chair.

“Please, no more.” You sob the words out as your head swings from side to side. “I can’t- I can’t.”

“Be brave, little bird.” Victor soothes, his voice almost teasing as he uncaps a fresh medical needle – one thin enough to pierce the skin without leaving too much damage in its wake. “You have taken the others so well, and this will be no different.”

Glancing down at your nude body, the sight which greets you only sparks a fresh sob of total despair as you take in the various needles which he has already used to decorate your body. Your thighs and tits bear the worst of it; a trio of needles embedded in the skin of both thighs matching the series of needles which are delicately threaded across the darker skin of your areolas to form a metallic circle.

The endorphin high which rides alongside the terror is so intense that your body feels hypersensitive, every slight brush of Victor’s hands along your skin as he gently traces the lines of his own brutalist artwork electric against the nerves.

“Are you ready for the final additions?”

You shake your head, refusing to look at the needle and instead focusing your hazy attention on Victor’s face; his eyes hidden away beneath his familiar visor even as his mouth curls into a satisfied smirk, his sadistic joy on full show as he tastes your fear in the air with every flicker of his forked tongue.

“Only two more.” He continues, his voice soft and hypnotic in that way which it always is when he is trying to convince you to go along with his more wicked plans. Keeping the needle pinned between his pinky and ring finger, Victor instead brings his thumbs to your nipples and the soft pads are rough against the sensitive nubs as he rubs at them until they stiffen against his skin. “And yes, they will hurt terribly but how beautiful your reactions will be.”

“Dr. Gideon, please.”

You feel the pressure as the sharp end of the needle depresses the skin, the tension growing tighter, before it punctures. Victor sinks the needle through your right nipple with a clinical determination, ensuring a clean through-and-through as you wail softly, body so exhausted from the ongoing adrenaline ride that you feel close to passing out. Hands shaking so badly they can barely claw at their own restraints, your vision swims with tears as low, stuttering breaths escape your lungs.

A second, equally as sharp pain rockets through your chest and you don’t need to look down to discover that Victor has quickly taken the opportunity to place a needle through your other nipple. The intensity of the pain dissolves quickly in a dull, throbbing ache of pure discomfort – the acute edge of it dulling due to the fresh endorphins which wash through your trembling skin.

“Beautiful.” Victor huffs and your watery gaze dips up to meet his. His pupils are blown wide, forked tongue making soft flicking movements against his cracked lips as he tastes something in the air. A tickle of something damp scores down your right tit and you keep your eyes held high to avoid the inevitable sight of your own dripping blood.

Victor, noticing the stain at the same moment you felt it, issues a soft gasp of delight and his head is quick to strike as he hunches his huge body to dip lower and lift the underside of your breast with one of his massive hands. Bringing his mouth to your nipple, it’s that same wicked tongue which touches your skin first, tracing the pathway of the blood droplet in reverse as he licks it up with a thoroughly satisfied hum.

It’s when he reaches the nipple itself that you gasp, the sensation of his forked tongue wrapping around the ultra-sensitive nub sparking a vicious mixture of pleasure and discomfort as he makes no real effort to avoid the needle. Instead, he allows his tongue to wrap around both ends of the needles as he seeks out the source of the injury.

“Vic-Victor!” You cry out his name as his other hand rises, almost thoughtlessly, to knead at your other tit – his palm avoiding the needle there but only by a whisper. “Hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” Victor soothes, pulling free of your body with a low, measured response, “But if you could only see what I see as you suffer and bleed. For me.” Having no response to that, Victor continues. “You stink of fear, but your body is beginning to change-”

Without warning or permission, one of Victor’s hands presses between your widened knees and the sound which flees from your throat as he thrusts two thick fingers within your cunt is borderline feral as it only adds to the myriad of sensations which are shattering your fragile thoughts.

“Physical arousal remains moderate but the real beginnings of something special are there.” Victor hums, scissoring his fingers a few times before pulling them free and bringing them into the space between your faces. You can see it – there at the very tips of his digits – your own arousal as it slickens and glistens against the thick pads. “We are making progress, little bird. Perhaps…”

His voice trails off, free hand ticking over to the pile of unopened needles as his stained hand returns to your cunt. With two fingers, he spreads your folds wide and his middle finger dips between them to tease soft circles around your engorged clit – aroused forcing it to peek free of its protective hood.

Immediately understanding his plans, you thrash yourself in place as you pull against the tight restraints with renewed energy. Words spill from your lips without any real thought, just a desperate and constant stream of begging.

“Fuck! No! Please, no. Not that- anything but that. Please. Victor! I can’t do that, don’t do that to me. Please.”

“Hush.” Drawing the last sound out like a hissing snake, Victor brings his other hand back to stroke along the back of your cheek with his knuckles. “All these dramatics and for nothing.”

Just thankful that he had returned his attention from the pile of capped medical needles, you try to distract him in one of the few ways you know how.

“My heart! My heart, it’s going too fast. I’m going to hurt myself.”

“Hmm,” his head tilting as his visor clearly took some measurement of your struggling frame, Victor issues a soft tut at whatever reading it delivers, “your heartrate is elevated but not to the point of danger. Besides,” he taps at his duster pocket, “any mistakes today can easily be rectified.”