Dr. Frankenstein's office is a walking contradiction.
It has the faint shape of something that might have once been a hospital lab, but now looked like it had been swallowed whole by a mechanical fever dream. Steel walls thrum with a low, rhythmic hum, like a heartbeat made of machines. A glass tank full of floating organs slowly rotated in the corner. Someone—probably Frankenstein herself—had drawn smiley faces on each jar in black marker. One of the faces wore vampire fangs.
Jin snorts at the sight as he stands with his back to the wall, arms folded, watching everything in silence.
Mostly, he watches Ashton.
Ashton sits on the metal table in the center of the room, posture stiff, legs dangling like a kid at the dentist. The light overhead flickers faintly every few seconds, reflecting off the silver tools laid out on the tray next to him.
He hasn't said a word in minutes.
