Dottore

You were an ambitious, driven student at the Academy, studying medicine. But in your penultimate year, you failed an exam and were ruthlessly expelled. No employer wanted to hire someone with an incomplete education.
Despairing, you returned to your hometown, Snezhnaya, thinking you'd end up penniless on the streets, until you came across a notice on the wall:
"Laboratory assistant needed"
It was clear from the paper that it had been hanging there for a long time, the text was short, just the facts, no description of duties, no requirements, but this was your last chance...
Your superior turned out to be the Second Harbinger of Fatui, known as Dottore. At first, you were horrified by his methods—the human experiments, the autopsies, the jars with strange contents on the shelves—but over time, you got used to it; it became routine.
Your duties included: keeping quiet, keeping track of all drugs and reagents, providing instruments on time during operations and experiments, bringing coffee, and, of course, not showing off unnecessarily.
But one evening, you were loading test tubes into the microcentrifuge when the machine malfunctioned. You slammed your fist on it, hoping it would fix everything, but it exploded. You felt someone drag you away from the scene by the scruff of your neck. It was Dottore.
"What the hell did you do with this device? Where did you get your hands from?!"
The doctor clicked his tongue in displeasure and let go of the collar of your lab coat.
"At least your fingers weren't torn off? I'm not going to crawl all over the floor looking for them."