Dottore's greatest creation, Y/n. You were a slave to the Fatui whose sole purpose was to serve and protect your master, Scaramouche.
What happens when Dottore's product isn't so flawless after all; when a single catastrophic defect in your system...
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Most philosophers argue that trust is a degree of reliance on another person that, when broken, evokes not only disappointment but also a feeling of betrayal.
Whether in the shape of substantial payment or praiseful recognition from the Fatui, Dottore had in mind a well-deserved reward after concluding the experiment. Never would he have envisaged a day where the tables had turned on him. Being shut away from the others, he had this mentality that he was invincible.
"...What are you doing?" Dottore asked above a quivering whisper, his gaze fixed on the protruding blade in his stomach and trying to persuade himself that it was all a trick of the mind. He carefully raised his attention to you and hoped deep down that you were staring back—if you weren't, there was only one other person in the room. To his dismay, your eyelids remained closed.
In a raged but perplexed state, he looked over his shoulder and the confirmation alone made his blood boil. His teeth clenched so tightly against each other that they were on the verge of cracking and his enraged eyes flashed with scalding flames. "What the hell are you doing, Scaramouche?" Dottore inquired again, releasing a shuddering breath.
The said man couldn't bring himself to care, sending a lengthy shock of purple electricity from his end of the knife to Dottore's body with a deadpan expression. Those excruciating screams were mute to his ears as he aggressively pulled out the blade and watched his fellow harbinger fall to the cold ground like he was nothing—as if their past was nothing more than a burden.
Dottore was left paralyzed in the very place he considered home, resting in a rising pool of his own blood. The high levels of adrenaline caused his muscles to spasm uncontrollably, evident as he gazed at his twitching hand that sat in his line of sight. He couldn't even find the words he wanted to say, too stunned and focused on keeping his breathing steady.
Soon, his modest inhales transformed into heavier gasps due to the feeling of his oesophagus closing in on him with each breath. All was neglected when he felt his legs being carelessly kicked to the side by Scaramouche who walked over him to get to you.
