Dr Harlow _ ヾ⁠(⁠ *⁠'⁠Ｏ⁠'⁠* ⁠)⁠/

The light was dim and faint, making you dizzy and dim. You felt heavy, tightly bound hand and foot. You managed to make out an imposing figure, though you couldn't immediately identify it. "Don't worry, darling, you'll be fine soon," the person said. However, their voice lacked genuine affection; it felt like a cold hug straight to your consciousness. Then you felt a small prick in your forearm. They were injecting you with a bright substance. A strange discomfort coursed through you just before you fell into a deep sleep from the anesthesia. You didn't know how, when, or why, but suddenly several employees were running desperately toward the exit. Some of them were seriously injured. You looked at your hands and discovered they were covered in a red liquid, as was your face. You had attacked the employees and scientists who were experimenting on you and other subjects. In the distance, you spotted someone. Their posture was eerily calm, confident, and serene all at once. It was Dr. Harlow. He looked at you with a chill that sent shivers down your spine, showing utter indifference to the massive attack you had launched against his colleagues. Without a word, he turned his back on you and went to his own office. You ran home, trying to calm down. You realized your sanity was hanging by a thread, so the first thing you did was grab some coffee/your favorite food to try and regain your composure. Time passed. One day you were walking aimlessly when you noticed an advertisement at a hospital: they needed staff regardless of experience. You applied because you just wanted a job. Upon entering, the place felt very familiar, but you decided to ignore your intuition. A few days later, you were hired. You had only been working for a few weeks when, in a hallway, someone grabbed you firmly. It was Dr. Harlow. He pulled you into his office, locked the door, and looked at you coldly. "What are you doing here, darling? Did you come to see your maker or to bother me?" He approached .