It was midnight, 1926. No one in the streets, alleys, in the hospital. Except for Doctor Anatoly. Anatoly is a renowned surgeon in Russia and works in the Wisteria Hospital. His hands move with practiced precise as he fills some paperwork. His handwriting strangely yet truly beautiful. The office was silent, the only sound being the occasional pen scratching against the paper, until the door bursed open and revealed... Professor Tankai. One of the best scientists in the hospital, a loud man. Tankai just enters whistling some playfull melody as he just sits down on a chair Infront of Anatoly. Anatoly narrows his eyes a little as he watches Tankai taking out a sandwich and taking a bite out of it. Anatoly speaks up. His voice stern, deep and soft.
"And, pray tell, what brings you into my office at midnight, dear professor..?"
Tankai just smirks as he chomps down on the sandwich and speaks up with his mouth full.
"What? Can't I pay a visit to the grumpiest man alive?"
Anatoly sighs a little rubbing his eyes as he took his glasses off and wipes them with a napkin softly as he speaks up.
"I am not grumpy. At least not much as you think."
"Heh! Are you sure, doctor? Because I'm pretty sure you have that frown on your face for like.. years! I'm actually starting to think it's permanent, you know!"
Anatoly sighed and he did not respond. He put his glasses back on and looked at tankai with his black eyes as he spoke up again. His voice more stern this time.
"I may have a frown on my face but that does not make me the 'grumpiest man alive' professor. Now if you don't have anything to do in my office I shall ask you to leave."
"Hm? Leaving? So soon? I think I will stay actually. You're fun to rise up, doctor."
"I am one to mess with, professor."
"Are you sure about that, Doctor? It's fun to see how you're trying to keep that stoic mask of yours and not snapping at me! It's really amusing, really."
"Professor, please do not take anymore of my work time and leave. You-"
Tankai just shushes Anatoly.
"Shh... My dear doctor.. I will.. leave.. when I want to."
Tankai just poked Anatoly's face with his finger just to annoy Anatoly. Which was working.
Anatoly groaned as he tried to swat Tankai's hand away
"I am asking you to stop kindly, professor.."
Anatoly said, his patience clearly running thin.
"Hah! Look at you, already losing your patience? Told you, you're so easy to rise up!"
Anatoly just groaned again as he snapped.
"My god, professor! Can't you see I'm trying to work here? Or are you just too much of a dumbass to understand?!"
"Don't call me a dumbass!"
"You know what, you're right. You're not a dumbass... You're a fucking idiot!"
Tankai just laughed at this little argument of theirs.
Tankai stopped laughing just long enough to wipe a fake tear from the corner of his eye.
"You wound me, Anatoly. Right here," he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest.
Anatoly glared. "If only you’d collapse for real. Then maybe I’d get ten minutes of silence."
"Wow. Is that a threat or a fantasy?"
Anatoly paused.
"...Both."
Tankai leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs like an absolute menace.
"You’re fun when you're mad. You ever try relaxing? Maybe... smile?"
"I do smile."
"When? During autopsies?"
"Those are the only times you’re not talking."
Tankai laughed again, and Anatoly, despite himself, felt the corner of his mouth twitch—just a tiny flicker. He immediately forced it down.
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Tankai leaned forward again, sandwich long forgotten.
"Y'know, you could just admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That you missed me."
"I didn't even know you existed until five minutes ago."
"Exactly. Tragic, isn’t it?"
Anatoly pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are exhausting."
"And you’re adorable when you’re annoyed."
"...Out."
"Nope."
Anatoly stood up slowly, looming over Tankai like a silent, annoyed shadow.
"Out. Now."
Tankai stared up at him, amused... and maybe a little intrigued.
"Fine, fine," he said, getting up and brushing crumbs from his coat.
"But you’ll miss me when I’m gone, Doc. Trust me."
As he opened the door, Tankai turned with a smirk.
"Oh—and next time? I’m bringing tea."
The door shut with a soft click, leaving Anatoly in silence once more.
He sat back down, muttered something in Russian under his breath, and returned to his paperwork.
But his hand hovered a second longer than usual before the pen touched the page.
He was... still thinking about that annoying man.
The next morning, Wisteria Hospital buzzed with its usual quiet urgency—heels clicking on linoleum, pages rustling, faint murmurs behind closed doors. The calm before the chaos.
Anatoly walked through the corridor like a shadow, his coat pristine, his expression unreadable. The scent of antiseptic followed him like a warning.
He passed the nurses’ station with a nod, entered the main surgical wing, and immediately spotted something out of place.
No—someone.
Tankai.
The professor was leaning far back in an office chair, spinning himself lazily in circles with his foot, like a bored child.
Anatoly stopped in his tracks.
“You.”
Tankai stopped spinning, grinned like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“What in God’s name are you doing in the surgical wing?”
Tankai sat up, dusted invisible crumbs off his coat, and pulled out a folder.
“Would you believe I’ve been assigned here now? Officially.”
Anatoly’s eyes narrowed. “Assigned?”
“Indeed! Head of Applied Medical Research. My lab’s next to yours. We’re coworkers now, Anatoly.”
A long silence stretched between them. You could practically hear Anatoly’s internal scream.
“Whose decision was this?” he asked, voice low and cold.
Tankai leaned in conspiratorially.
“The director. Said something about 'bridging gaps between departments' and ‘cooperative innovation.’ I stopped listening after I heard I’d be next to you.”
Anatoly set his files down carefully, too carefully.
“This is a surgical wing. Not a circus tent.”
“Oh, don’t be grumpy—think of all the bonding time we’ll have,” Tankai said, winking. “I even brought breakfast!”
He held up a half-eaten croissant from a suspicious-looking brown bag.
Anatoly gave it a single, disgusted glance.
“I wouldn’t feed that to a stray cat.”
“Well, good thing you’re not in charge of snacks.”
Another pause.
Anatoly pinched the bridge of his nose again. He could already feel the headache blooming behind his eyes.
“Just—stay out of my way, professor.”
Tankai smiled like that was a challenge.
“No promises, doctor.”
Before Anatoly could retreat into the safety of his office, a voice crackled over the intercom:
> “Dr. Pervona and Professor Tankai to Operating Room 3. Immediate consult requested.”
Anatoly froze mid-step. Slowly turned his head.
Tankai was already grinning, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Ooh. They called us both. Sounds serious.”
Anatoly muttered under his breath, “God is testing me.”
They arrived at OR 3 moments later, greeted by Nurse Elena—pale and visibly shaken.
“Doctor, Professor. We’ve never seen anything like this.”
Anatoly stepped forward, calm and collected. “Vitals?”
“Stable… for now. But you need to see it.”
Tankai tilted his head, curious. “See what, exactly?”
They entered the room.
And stopped.
The patient on the table was unconscious, covered in strange markings that looked almost like burn scars—but they glowed faintly, pulsing under the skin like embers. Their veins shimmered unnaturally beneath the surface, and their breath came out in short, sharp hisses, as though the very air hurt to breathe.
Anatoly blinked once.
“…What am I looking at?”
Tankai stepped closer, absolutely fascinated.
“Definitely not something from the textbooks.”
Anatoly turned to the nurse. “Where was the patient found?”
“In the west wing garden. Just collapsed out of nowhere. No ID. No injuries... just this.”
Tankai leaned in, eyes gleaming. “You smell that?”
Anatoly inhaled. There was something in the air. Not blood. Not alcohol. Something…
metallic. Cold. Old.
“…Copper and ozone,” Anatoly murmured.
“Like a thunderstorm that never ended,” Tankai added, eerily in sync.
They glanced at each other.
And in that moment—amid the strangeness, the humming glow of the body on the table, the static in the air—they both realized the same thing:
This was not just a patient.
It was the beginning of something else.
Something they’d be forced
to unravel.
Together.
Whether they liked it or not.
Tankai broke the silence first.
“So,” he said, circling the patient like a vulture, “glowing veins, cryptic collapse, smells like a science fair exploded. I’m thinking: mutation? Forbidden experiment? Or—hear me out—some ancient medical curse?”
Anatoly gave him a blank stare.
“You sound far too excited about this.”
“I am. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened since I burned the lab toast last week.”
“Charmed, truly.”
Anatoly turned his attention back to the patient, his fingers hovering just over the glowing markings. The warmth coming off them wasn’t from fever—it was unnatural, humming beneath the skin like a slow-burning fire.
Then the patient’s body jolted.
Just once.
But it was enough to send all the monitors screeching.
Tankai jumped back a step, eyes wide. “They’re waking up?! Already?!”
“No.” Anatoly’s voice dropped into that clinical, terrifying calm of his. “They’re reacting to something. Something nearby.”
Tankai frowned. “Nearby, like… you?”
Anatoly didn't respond. He just leaned in closer. His eyes locked on a faint mark near the patient’s collarbone.
It was a perfect circle, etched into the skin like a brand. Inside it—letters. Tiny. Old. Cyrillic.
Tankai peered over Anatoly’s shoulder. “What’s it say?”
“…My name,” Anatoly whispered.
Tankai blinked. “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”
Before either of them could say another word, the patient’s eyes snapped open.
They were black. Not dark—black. Like a void swallowing all light.
The room chilled by ten degrees instantly.
The patient’s lips moved.
One word.
“…Anatoly.”
Everything went silent.
