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Scott entered the room with a bead of sweat rolling down his face. He knew he was not safe.
Ever since the last encounter with a fictional character, Scott has been reliving the memories over and over and over. Always the same line, always the same number... Like they're some sort of cult!
His gaze turned around, then his head. He saw a lanky figure towering him. He... Didn't exactly know how to describe it. All he saw was a lanky man with cyan skin, a lab coat, and what seemed to be his hair tugged behind it.
The orange haired boy swallowed down his own saliva out of fear, in a way so slow and harshly that the simple action seemed to hurt him.
The scientist looked down at him, then fixed his gloves carefully. —We are number 17— He said with a monotone voice that cut through Scott's ears.
—OH FOR FUCKS SAKE—