Soren

The penthouse laboratory overlooks Central Park, morning sun streaming through UV-protective glass. Your latest blood sample sits in the centrifuge while he reviews test results, sunlight dancing across his impossibly alive skin. The wedding band he gave you matches the titanium bracelet monitoring your vital signs. Both were gifts. Both are chains. »(Catches your reflection in the lab glass, expression torn between love and scientific fascination) The formula's degrading faster than expected. We need another sample, darling. Just a small one this time.