#minted asks

"Excuse me?"

Oh dear, you had asked the question you had wanted to ask for a while now and he responds with an 'excuse me?'

Perhaps you had misjudged, maybe he wasn't one for physically carrying another person, even if it was you, of all people.

What were you thinking? Asking him of all people to pick you and carry to bed.

Your face felt warm and your gaze snapped to the carpet to study the patterns adorning it.

What a mistake, you fiercely fought the muscles in your face, your features wanted to scrunch up in various ways to express a margin of your sudden shame, but you stopped them. Not in front of him.

"I, uh... Well, you see..." You attempted to find an excuse somewhere in your head but, to be honest, you weren't exactly expecting a follow up question. You couldn't even find the words 'I'm sorry' either, which made you feel worse.

You heard Victor shift and expected him to move away, leave you to your flustered thoughts, but then, all of a sudden, you felt your own body move.

In an instant your feet left the ground and you realised two arms were supporting you.

You were being carried.

Your gaze found his, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as... professional.

"I will indulge you in this moment, but I have a lot of important work to do today." You thought he was being rude for a moment, but then the way your name rolled off his tongue instantly assured you that there was indeed a hint of softness behind the stern exterior.

Your face was burning and you again averted your eyes, this time taking time to appreciate the nearby wall.

Then he started moving and you felt your head drift closer to fully rest against his chest.

Being held was nice, you couldn't really find a better word for it. It was a rare occurrence when you received physical contact with another person, especially with Victor, and you had an itch in the back of your mind to try to change that.

Problem is, you were awful at the trying part. The frogs in your throat, the fog rolling over your brain, the words that would suddenly escape you right as they were on the tip of your tongue. You simply couldn't ask him and it frustrated you.

Asking him to carry you would easily be the subject of rigorous debate by many scholars. It wasn't so much of a question and more like a string of words blurted out, completely and utterly out of the blue.

Whatever. It worked. You can kick your feet about it later. Right now, however, you were struggling to processing the overwhelming emotions now flooding your body and mind.

Stay calm, it's just being held. Though, to you, it feels like all your nerves are alight, your keenly aware of how his hands hold you, the pressure on your skin under your clothes, feeling his body move against you as he walked.

Although you weren't looking, if you so happened to peek a glance up at him, you very well might find him looking down at you.

A smile playing at the corners of the cracking skin of his lips, his eyes squinting ever so slightly, the look of adoration, one might say.

Victor wouldn't admit it outright in that moment, but he loved seeing your eyes nervously glance around the rooms he brought you through; how your fingers fidgeted in his lap, rubbing and slightly scratching over the skin.

Part of him wanted to tease you but he thought better to save that for when he set you down on the bed.

Why then?

Because that would be the moment you would look up at him with wide eyes and slightly open move, as if to 'can you hold me again?' and that, he believed, would be the perfect time to tease you.

Tease you and watch your hands covers your face and that embarrassed huff to leave you. Your shyness would forever be endearing to him.

And for your incredibly adorable shy - but still awful - attempt for asking him to carry you, you deserved a little reward, he thought.

A gentle kiss to your forehead, obviously.

Right, to start off with, Victor will never and I mean never admit that he's touch-starved. Yearning for your scent, to pass by as close as possible to smell that shampoo he loves you using? Finding his mind guided by unseen forces towards the warmth of your skin against his rough fingers? How the contrast in the textures of your skin makes him shiver and wish to run his hands over every inch of your body that he can get to? All ways he would describe it. Touch-starved, though? Perish the thought!

A favourite activity of his is coming up right behind you and getting as close as possible without actually physically touching you, before initiating conversation with you. The leap you make, the way your head snaps up straight, how your bounce on the balls of your feet, oh would you look at that? Now you're touching him! Jumped right back into his chest, so don't mind him lazily putting a hand across your middle to keep you in place, since you so generously came into his arms.

What? You didn't intend to? That this is inappropriate in the work place? Nobody else is around, relax, he tells you as he continues walking you through his latest results from a recent surgery on one of the patients, perhaps even resting his chin atop your head as he talks, taking in the feeling of you simply being close.

Wiggle out of his grasp and that's cause for him to grab your wrist and you both to hold your connected hands at an arms length from each other.

The look he gives you, the glare, the taut line his lips are pulled in, compared to the relaxed smile he had moments ago. A second passes and he hisses, tuts, then scolds you.

However, as he's chastising you for denying him so suddenly when there was no threat of danger, his thumb slowly ghosts over the inside of your wrist and finds your pulse. Your heartbeat thrums under his calloused pad, the peeling edges of the hardened skin scraping right over your radial artery.

Of course, dear Reader, this is Victor Gideon we're talking about here! You think this man's touch-starved nature only extends as far as your skin, your hair, your scent? Foolish to think so! It extends to even the thought of your blood, yes, your blood. The viscous, warm liquid smeared between his finger and thumb, fresh from a blood draw he forced you to do, another thing that allowed him to drag his fingers over your veins and press down on them.

He doesn't even check if anyone is around before bringing his index finger to his mouth and letting his tongue slip past his lips, gliding it over your sweet blood to then rub around the inside of his mouth.

Every part of you he savours however best he can. If you have hair, any that sheds and is left on your desk, he takes it, tests it to make sure it's yours, and keeps it. You have a jacket or coat that you wear to work? Oops, it's gone missing, nobody knows where it is... except for Victor, but he plays along, feigns innocence and all. If he runs out of your blood he will get more.

My one piece of advice would be this. Indulge him, dear Reader. If he grabs you, if he holds you, feels your skin, let him. Getting him frustrated, annoyed and, god forbid, angry, will lead to dire consequences for you.

His twisted version of borrowing, to anyone else it's taking, violating, will turn to his equally twisted form of taking. The only way I can describe is as thus... Defiling.

Victor will take what he deems is deserved. Maybe a knife to the skin of your arm or back, cutting a piece off of you. Maybe he tears a nail from your finger. Keep defying him and it could escalate. A tooth, a digit, an eye, your tongue.

You sat on the edge of the bath, still clothed, with your eyes on Victor, who was stood at the other end of the large bath, turning the taps off to stop the water. Silence filled the room, only broken by the gentle sound of Victor's hand stirring the water and bubbles together. He nodded to himself, happy with the temperature of the water.

When his gaze lifted and came to meet yours, you immediately averted your eyes and stared at the cracks between the tiles. Your face felt incredibly warm and you were hunched, hiding yourself from him, even though you remained fully clothed for the moment.

Sharing a bath had initially been your own idea. You mentioned it to him earlier on the day, that he should join you since the bath you shared was big enough to fit him as well as you into it. At first, Victor raised a brow at you, wondering aloud why on earth you would want him to be with you. When you remained silent afterwards, he grinned and lowered his voice.

"I see. You want me to be rather... close, don't you?" He took a step towards you and your eyes fell to the floor, shame and embarrassment bubbling inside your chest. You nodded, remaining honest with him. He chuckled at you, soft but teasing.

It led you both here, in the late hours of the night, running a bubble bath together.

Victor cleared his throat. He gave you an expectant look. When you didn't move, he spoke your name. "The water will get cold." And with that his hands moved and Victor began to undress. His coat slid off his shoulders, folded and neatly placed by the door. The buckles on the front of his shirt were slowly - deliberately slow, might I add - undone and the fabric of his shirt peeled away to reveal more of his scarred skin underneath.

Feeling it rude to stare so intently, you tore your eyes from his bare chest and began removing your own clothes. You were keenly aware of the sound of his belt unbuckling and clinking against the tile and his trousers being kicked off and folded with the rest of his clothes as well. You copied him. You placed your own folded clothes next to his pile and straightened your back to now look at him once more.

Your face was burning. Victor's eyes weren't locked with yours. Instead, they wandered over your body, bare and slightly shivering from the cold. His head tilted as his eyes travelled back up to capture yours. His expression was a mix of adoration and anticipation, as if you were a mouse, cowering from its predator. He said no words.

Victor climbed into the bath and let out a deep sigh. "Will you join me?" He said your name again, dragging it out and pulling the smile wider, flashing you his golden and crooked teeth between his barely parted lips.

Beneath the thick layer of bubbles, the water shifted, Victor's legs parted. You took a deep breath before climbing in. The water was pleasantly warm and soothing. Your kept your legs together, so Victor closed his around you, then brought his hands around your stomach, caging you against him. He let a minute pass before lowering his head to your ear.

"You're quite tense," Victor says rather matter-of-factly. You can feel his chest rise and fall against your back. He can feel your heart racing through your back.

One hand around your stomach sinks below the water and you gasp as his hand easily parts your legs. His palm cups your crotch. You suck in another breath as he gently bats the water against you. You try to hunch forwards but Victor's arm keeps you upright and flush to his chest. The light touch against your most sensitive areas makes you suddenly throb and a short whine to sound in the back of your throat.

It's been a month now, or well, now that you think of it, more than that, since a colleague of yours has become... How do we put it? Bothersome? Insufferable? Deserving of a good smack across the face? All three? Yes.

It started out as compliments, general things, saying that you were looking well, that you were doing some good work, that they've heard a lot of good things about you. Stuff that isn't exactly uncommon nor would arouse suspicion. But then, when those became repetitive and you're enthusiastic responses turned to curt politeness, wanting to get back to your work, then it switched to more personal compliments.

Your face, your deodorant or perfume. If you wear any jewellery, make up, paint your nails, what have you. If it was the odd comment when you had done something noticeable and not walking into work the same as you did the day previously, then you may not have cared. But they just wouldn't stop.

You tried being polite. Nod your head, force a smile, but all that did was encourage them more, they took it as a sign that you were merely a shy one and they could be more forward with you.

Their hand came to your lower back as you passed by and your mind moved your body to act on its own. Your hand - or the back of your hand, in this instant - consequently came to strike them across the face with a smack so loud you were sure those in the adjacent rooms heard it as clear as Thomas or Timothy's shouts.

At the exact time you had done so, or right beforehand, right in time for them to witness it, your boss Dr Victor Gideon rounded the corner at the far end of the hall. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched you both with an arched brow, his expression neutral, seemingly unbothered.

Your colleague saw that look at immediately tried to use it to their advantage, jabbing a finger at you and yelling to your boss that you had hit them across the face for no reason whatsoever. The gall! You had half a mind to smack them across their other cheek and give them a matching pair of red marks but you kept your fists clenched by your sides, not wanting to make this situation lean further in their favour.

Victor approached the both of you slowly until he stood directly over you both, his eyes passing between each of you before landing solely on you and you alone. His lips pressed into a fine line and he clicked his tongue when he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave them alone," Your shoulders sagged in defeat and your co-worker grinned a sick, triumphant grin. "I've seen your frankly appalling attempts at work-place flirting" - His eyes fell on your colleague next to you - "and need I remind you that's against the rules here."

The expressions you and your colleague both wore suddenly switched and you beamed at him with a look that clearly said 'you're fucked.'

"Sir, I was only-"

"Your notice is two weeks, correct?" Victor interrupted them before they could try.

"My notice?" They hunched in on themselves instinctively. "Yes, two weeks... Why?"

"Make it one day, collect any personal belongings and we shall not see you here tomorrow, or again for that matter."

If your boss wasn't standing a couple steps in front of you, you would of jumped for joy. The best part? They didn't even try to argue, they took one look into the pale yellow irises that instilled fear into everything under the care centre's roof, nodded, then turned and walked away rather quickly, leaving you both alone.

"Thank you, Dr Gideon," You smiled up at him, but then cocked your head one side slightly, "But if you knew, why didn't you do anything sooner?"

"Ah," He clicked his tongue again, "It was only in the past couple days I heard an exchange and I wasn't sure of the context. But now it's quite clear to me it was not at all a mutual show of... affection."

A reasonable response that you took without question.

But it wasn't the truth.

Victor had known since the day it started. You think he wasn't privy to what was captured on the multitude of cameras around the entire care centre? Oh, he was!

Part of him was furious but another part intrigued. The way you kept yourself professional, how you never grew visibly angry, he was fascinated by it. Only he could make you crumble when speaking to you, you held your ground for everyone else.

It made him feel a form of sick and twisted pride that he was the only one who could make you feel such ways, express such open and bare emotion. So he watched and studied these feeble attempts to gain your affection, verbally critiquing what he watched and fantasising about what he would do instead.

Although, as it became more and more personal, he thought to step in, set things right and put himself back in proper control of you. So he saw where you were on the cameras, and sent a message to his secretary, asking her to call your colleague to a room for a supposed meeting, knowing your paths would cross.

With the trap set, Victor left his office and went to go witness the obvious eventual exchange that would happen, though he did not expect you to fight back in the manner that you did. When he stopped it was with genuine surprise.

Things had been going missing and they had been going missing for almost a month now.

You were missing a shirt, maybe you were one pair socks short, your deodorant and disappeared from your bathroom and you swore you bought an extra bottle of shampoo for when your current one ran out.

It was getting annoying, frustrating, to be honest and you'd let your friends know about your supposed carelessness with misplacing things around your home.

One of your friends suggested that you had a mysterious stalker that would only steal mildly inconveniencing items from their places and you rolled your eyes at the thought.

There was no way someone would be breaking into your house to steal an old jacket you hadn't work in a while, if money was stolen then you'd be more inclined to believe.

One of them even laughed and said you should leave things you no longer want for this 'stalker' to take.

It certainly convinced you that if you tried and nothing happened, then you truly were just completely misremembering where you were placing things and when you had bought certain items.

Why not? You wouldn't be losing something important, anyways.

Thus, did you opt to leave a pair of boxers on top of your chest of drawers, going so far as to add a cheeky handwritten note next to them.

'Not my favourite pair, free of charge to be misplaced.'

It pulled a chuckle from you, the absurdity that you thought to humour your friend's idea. Oh well, if anything, it would prove at least one thing right about the past month.

However, you were not intending to be proven wrong, and your friends' light hearted jokes to be proven right.

They were gone, the note too.

You'd come in from spending the day out at work, or having some time to yourself, and the neatly folded pair of not-well-loved boxers were completely gone without a trace and you know you didn't move them this time - it had only been a day!

What you did find, in its exact place, was a freshly printed picture of you, specifically of you writing the note on the table, the very same note that would be stolen.

Your stomach twisted and your eyes followed out the window towards where the picture would have been taken.

You immediately went and closed the blinds.

Though he was no longer there, now back in his office at the care centre, Victor Gideon took twisted pleasure in how fast he had stolen the item.

What luck, it was, for him to be watching you come home from your outing with your friends, then watch you place a pair of your boxers on the table and leave a note with it.

How intriguing. It was clear to him that you had your suspicions, but to take such an approach to confirm it made a sly laugh slip from between his teeth.

It showed that you didn't fully realise how exposed you truly were to him. But he would enlighten you.

The next morning after you left the flimsy protection of your home, he let himself in through the backdoor and made straight for your selfless offering to him.

Of course, he thought it fair to give you something in return for once, pulling out a picture he took of you yesterday and popping it in place of your now relinquished underwear.

A ran his fingers over the material flicked his tongue out. He would have preferred it if they weren't washed but it still smelled like your home, so it was a small bonus.

Well, now that you had so lovingly gifted him such an intimate item from your bountiful collection, Victor saw it as an invitation to continue taking what he pleased from you.

A lovely exchange would then occur between the two of your over the next couple months.

Something would be stolen from you and in its place would be a relatively recent photograph of you.

What a wonderful game that he was winning.

His eventual prize?

Why, you, of course.

What a night for the power to go out. The accursed old care centre's electricity had been rather worse for wear lately. No matter. It was just a short trip to your boss's office and then you could go home for the night. Unfortunately, you were late, but that was due to needing to switch from typing results on a computer to writing them down on a clipboard instead. You dropped the clipboard onto the desk by your patient's bed and silently removed yourself from their room.

Out in the hallway, you sighed at the state of it. The ceiling had many gaping holes littered along it. To the newer staff, it was simply a case of damp from the recent storm rotting the wood away. To everyone else, however, the holes were the remains of the 'The Girl's little adventure around the care centre a few days prior. Marie had gotten loose and the building had gone into a full lockdown for nearly twenty-four hours until she was finally recaptured. You'd heard rumours it was a test of security but you doubted Victor would willingly let Marie wander without first informing you, right?

You closed the door quietly behind you and stood still in the darkness. In the far corner of the hall was the emergency light, glowing red and pulsing gently. You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. It was just a quick meeting, then you could go home and kick your feet up. You took a step and stopped. Something moved behind you. You craned your head around but you couldn't see much of anything in the pitch black. It moved again. Heavy and slow, it drew closer. Your throat went dry and you stayed completely still. She wasn't out again, was she? If she was, surely you would have been told. Or you would have been told, if the speakers around the building did not require power to work.

The scrape of metal and thunderous footsteps came to a stop at what sounded like a few paces away, a few paces above you. You held your breath and bit your lip. All the terrible thoughts bubbled to the forefront of your mind, all the things you had read on reports. After several moments of tense silence, you thought that perhaps she no longer knew you were there. But then a round of wailing began in the room you had left moments ago. Through the hole in the wooden ceiling, you heard a low grunt and the sound of her shackles shuffling together as she no doubt turned her entire body in the direction of the cries. You jumped back as your eyes barely managed to make out her huge shape descend from above. The silence filled with Marie's short grunts and heavy inhales. Your patient continued for a second longer before losing their voice.

The red light caught one of Marie's bulging eyes and she leaned her head forwards at you, something that could be described as curious, but you knew what it alluded to. Neither of you had come face-to-face before. She didn't recognise you. Her head tilted like that of a small child who had just run into a grown-up they weren't sure they could trust. Then, she snarled at you, her voice guttural. You turned and ran without a second thought. Marie gave chase without hesitation.

You raced around the corner and came out into the centre hall. Only soft red lights barely illuminated the marble floor. You could barely make out your surroundings but you had no time to be careful. Marie was closing in behind you. Your footsteps, light in comparison, echoed, unable to hide your location from the monster now barrelling through the archway just metres behind. You descended the stairs as fast as you could, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating but doing a pretty bad job at it. When you turned to take the next set of stairs that would lead you to the ground floor, Marie's hand swiped at you from the staircase above. Your head twisted as her nails tore through your cheek. The edge of your foot slipped off the step. Your body twisted and turned in the air, then came crashing down against the remaining steps, tumbling over yourself until you collapsed into a heap at the bottom. Despite the blood pouring down your face, long trails slipping down your neck and under your collar, you ignored it and tried to pull yourself up.

"Fuck!" You cried out suddenly. As you tried to push yourself off the floor, your right ankle buckled and flared with intense pain.

Above you, Marie began to descend the stairs after you. Fighting back tears, you opted to drag yourself along the ground, using your own good foot to kick out behind you and propel your body along the floor. It was truly pitiful. You only managed to get a good few paces away before a large hand scooped you off the floor. Marie brought you above her head. She stared at you and ground her teeth together. You did your best to struggle but her grip was too tight. Both your eyes squeezed shut as she began to lower you towards her face. You screamed, it was all you could muster.

Three loud bangs in quick succession of each other ripped through the hall and, momentarily, your ears rang. The grip around your waist loosened and you collided with the floor, your ankle twisting painfully again under your body. Marie screeched in rage and bounded on all fours away from you, towards the other side of the hall. You propped yourself up on your elbows and saw a muzzle flash light up the door to the West Wing.

A lone security guard fired his gun at Marie but not a single bullet made her falter again. He yelled in frustration, the final bullet leaving the chamber. Still he kept pulling the trigger. Marie grabbed the man by both his sides and dragged his feet off the floor. You couldn't look away. You felt sick. Why did you move? It was your one chance to get away but all you did was stare. You didn't want to look away from witnessing what you had read. Ultimately, you couldn't understand why.

In an instant, Marie's teeth parted and the security guard's head and shoulders disappeared into her gaping mouth. A split second later, her jaw snapped shut. You couldn't see it clearly in the darkness, but the sickening crunches and tears of flesh and bone, along with blood spraying against the floor, told you all you needed to know. For a moment, Marie didn't move afterwards. It was like she was... processing what she had just done. One could almost mistake it for a moment of regret, the little girl deep inside of her utterly terrified at what she had done. But in the next moment, she moved again. Her head tilted backwards, her teeth cleanly coming away from the remnants of the guard's body. With her head raised towards the far away ceiling, Marie swallowed once and dropped the remains of her victim to the ground. Again, she stood frozen in place. You dared not move in the returning silence but her eye rolled to look directly at you and you screamed. Marie's whole body turned towards you and she screamed back at you.

Without power, Victor couldn't keep an eye on you with his cameras. You were supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago. Something didn't feel right, which was not a feeling he got all that often. It unnerved him. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the space between his eyes, frustrated. A second later, a nurse burst through the door to his office without knocking.

"Dr Gideon," She held a penlight in her hand, "Marie is loose again."

Victor rose from his chair. "Where?" He barked at her.

"We believe she was heading towards the East Wing, sir." She flinched when Victor barged right past her.

"How much longer until the power is restored?" His voice remained calm but there was clear urgency in his strides. The nurse struggled to keep pace with him.

"The electricians stated it was simply a blown fuse in the attic-"

"How much longer?" Victor asked again, spitting slightly at her.

"They said a few minutes when I asked them, sir." She watched Victor gain distance and came to standstill. If he was going to deal with Marie, she'd rather stay far, far away from that creature. So, the nurse turned on her heels and walked in the complete opposite direction of Victor.

Angered already by the multiple minor gunshots to her head, Marie chose to take out that anger on you, swiping at your and launching you across the floor. Her claws ripped into your front and tore the fabric of your shirt. Your chest burned. Blood seeped between the gashes. It smeared over the freshly cleaned floors as your body bounced across the marble. You rolled down the few steps leading towards the main entrance and wheezed out a weak cry. Your vision grew blurry with tears. The outline of Marie's for stalked closer until she stood directly above you. You allowed your eyes to close, too weak and scared to watch your own demise.

Before Marie could lift you up into her awaiting jaws, light flared behind your eyelids and an inhuman screech ripped through your skulls. The sound of something crackling and sizzling became known to you but it grew distant. Amongst the chaos of heavy footsteps and screams, you heard a voice bellow far away. It was deep and familiar. They called your name. Everything slipped back into silence after that.

Your eyes cracked open to the sight of a small lamp on a table beside you. The lights in the room were dimmed but the lamp remained bright. You felt comforted by that. Pain spiked throughout your whole body as your tried to move and you winced. Something heavy rested against your cheek and on top of your chest, something thick was wrapped around your foot.

"You're awake." Victor's voice startled you. You turned your head and saw him standing at the foot of your bed. "You're lucky we found you when we did. Any later and I feared you would have been beyond saving." You had the strength to lift yourself up into a sitting position. Every muscle cried out but you bit back a whimper. "You're also lucky that I'm an incredible doctor." Victor hummed to himself with pride.

"You could have told me she had escaped." You muttered quietly, resting your head against the back board of the bed frame. You weren't sure which room you were in but it was obviously one that didn't have a patient in it before. It was too clean.

"I didn't know Marie had escaped." Victor shot back at you, a look of disappointment forming on his face. You rolled your eyes, unimpressed by the response.

Not wanting to launch into an argument you were too tired to conduct, Victor let out an annoyed his to himself and left your room, slamming the door behind him.

It was not his intention to put you in harm's way. If he had known, he would have avoided it. He would have stationed you in another sector of the centre for your shift. The security test was good at capturing her but it clearly had its faults when the power was out. His fists clenched by his sides. Needless to say, he had saved your sorry life from bleeding out in the entrance hall of his centre and your first words upon reawakening weren't to thank him, but to scold him? He hissed again to himself and stomped up the stairs to his office. Ungrateful. You were completely ungrateful. He'd leave you to rest and recover and realise your mistake. Victor was sure that come the end of the week, he'd get the gratitude he was owed and he could coo over your wounds like he intended to do when you awoke.

Marie had certainly played with her food. Three clean tears through your chest, each requiring more than a handful of stitches to repair. Your cheek required a couple, but the other wounds were superficial and simply needed to be kept still to heal. He was unsure if Marie had caused your twisted ankle or if it was your carelessness but that too was fine. No bones broken, only minor damage and inflammation to the muscle around the bone.

Victor stormed into his office and kicked the door shut. He tried to calm himself down. You were okay, he'd made sure of that, but he was the reason you almost died. It all felt like it was his fault and it didn't help that you seemed to blame him. With a sigh, Victor collapsed in his leather chair at his desk and rubbed a hand over his face.

There are two main ways that Victor Gideon acquires his beloved gossip and happenings of the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Centre.

The first, and by far the longest used method, would be his many, many camera set up all around the building. Whilst it does not grant him the ability to properly listen in on all manner of private conversations between staff members, it does make him privy to their physical expressions and reactions.

He's vaguely aware of some things the people on the many screens talk about, be it about work or their more personal lives, and he likes to take a crack at guessing what they're talking about on the screen. Truth be told, he's far too busy to properly worm his way into his staff's personal affairs.

That's where the second method comes in, however. A far more recently employed method that grants him the opposite of what the cameras do - unable to see but able to hear. All of that comes from you, dear Reader.

Whether by design or not, if you genuinely wish it or don't, people are drawn to you. They open up to you. Something about you makes people believe they can share their secrets. You, of course, share those very same secrets with your boss and partner Victor!

If you bemoan the fact that you're burdened with such knowledge or joyfully spill all there is to tell to him, Victor continues his work with a neutral expression, or simply sits and stares at you. You begin to think he doesn't care but, at the end of the day, if you have to be the one to listen to practically everyone's personal lives, so does he.

In the span of a day you could unload onto him that a nurse's sister is having their first child; a doctor's son has been arrested for drink-driving; the cleaner deciding to casually drop that he'd been in prison for murder during your break; that two people were caught kissing in the staff bathrooms. Anything and everything seems to pass from you to him and not once does Victor let on that he greatly enjoys knowing.

He keeps a straight face, nodding and humming absentmindedly as he continues what he's doing. He's surprised you continue to tell him even after he seems so uninterested.

If you begin to trail off or mention that he doesn't care, he'll tell you he does, saying it in possibly the most uncaring voice he can muster, and because you two share a close relationship, you feel compelled to keep talking. That's another thing he greatly enjoys, that subtle control he has over you. He wonders if you're even aware of it yourself.

The actual information you give him can certainly be used as prime blackmail material!

A doctor isn't getting him those reports on recent blood tests to him in time? Well, knowing that his newborn has been hospitalised, it would be such a shame to threaten to dock his pay, now wouldn't it? And would you look at that, suddenly Victor has his reports by the end of the day! Oh dear, a nurse can't bring herself to come into work due to her poor mental health? With the knowledge of her condition, he knows exactly how to manipulate her into walking right through the front door!

He hides what he does with this information because, as far as you're aware, you have no idea he's even listening.