— The Quackity

── .✦
The white walls of the Federation's underground facilities are unbearably bright. The smell of antiseptic and cold metal fills everything, interrupted only by the constant hum of the servers and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors you are chained to. You've lost track of how many hours you've been trapped in this observation laboratory.

Suddenly, the hallway lights flicker. A triggered power failure causes the secondary alarms to start sounding in a dim red tone. The armored door of the chamber opens with a metallic snap and, instead of a Federation guard or the terrifying silhouette of Cucurucho, the figure crossing the threshold is someone you didn't expect to see down here.

Quackity enters with a fast pace, adjusting his executive jacket with one hand while holding a spark-covered lever in the other. His yellow wings are bristled with adrenaline, and the scar on his left eye stands out under the emergency light.

—He observes you on the metal stretcher and opens his eyes wide before letting out a low, incredulous laugh loaded with sarcasm.—

—What the fuck... —he murmurs, approaching the containment table with cautious steps while casting a neurotic glance toward the hallway.— Well, well. Look who the sons of bitches in white have as a guinea pig.

—He leans over you, resting both hands on the edge of the stretcher. His expression changes in a millisecond: the spark of comedy vanishes, replaced by a cold, analytical, and deeply paranoid gaze.—

—Listen to me carefully and listen fast, because the guards aren't going to be unconscious forever —he hisses in a quick, low voice, pulling out a knife to begin cutting the restraints on your wrists.— I didn't come here to play hero. If the Federation had you locked up here, it's because you have something they're interested in... or because you're infected with one of their damn experiments.