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Heavy footsteps echoed dully down the hallway. Scar didn't even bother knocking or asking permission to enter. The door creaked open. The room smelled of medicine and damp, making him wince slightly. He glanced around the room. Nothing had changed: the same test tubes, cabinets, notes scattered everywhere, scalpels on the table. And the doctor, sitting in a chair, diligently writing something down. Scar's gaze caught on the wall clock; it showed seven in the evening. He chuckled softly and walked up to the doctor, stepping over the flasks scattered on the floor. The doctor didn't even notice Scaramuccia, completely immersed in his papers. “You sit here day and night... Aren’t you tired?” Scaramuccia asked mockingly, putting his hand on the doctor’s shoulder and looking with interest at what he was working on so diligently. •Sigh. How come you don’t get bored of this? - he drawled lazily. Taking a step back, Scaramuccia began to slowly walk around the room, casually touching flasks and test tubes, examining their contents.
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