Chapter Text
“You’ll be working at the emergency room late at night. The rest of the day, you'll be staying at the orthopaedics department. And, if you need anything, remember to talk to your veteran co-workers.”
Cioccolata nodded at his superior one last time, before the older man left. He watched the man greet some patients as his figure became smaller with each step, until he entered his room and disappeared from his sight.
It wasn't Cioccolata’s first time at a hospital –he'd been involved in some practical lessons years earlier–, though, this time, it was official. He'd become a doctor, having obtained near perfect grades at the Università degli Studi di Napoli Federico II, after more than a decade. Everyone, from his closest relatives to his former classmates, and even some teachers, had shown him their full support, having believed in his skills and potential.
Unbeknownst to them, Cioccolata had never shown them his true self.
Cioccolata had always been curious about the world surrounding him. He'd never looked at his own wounds with disgust or fear, but with a fascinated look in his eyes. He'd been known to observe his classmates, regardless of age, as others tended to their wounds, focusing on the different ways they would express their own pain.
At age fourteen, Cioccolata had bit the apple.
What had begun with a slight miscalculation would soon turn into deliberate malpractice. Cioccolata would thoroughly read all and every medications’ prospect, focusing on the side effects and the possible outcomes for overdoses, and craft meticulous schemes in order to cause as much pain as possible to his elderly victims. The few ones that didn’t take their lives to free themselves of their misery would eventually pass away from important complications.
Cioccolata would always be there, recording his victims as they died, with a twisted grin on his face. Throughout his two years working at the nursing home, nobody would ever suspect a thing, regardless of how cruel his methods could become.
Once he’d taken his ninth victim, Cioccolata had begun considering becoming a doctor.
***
Having been given proper permission by his superiors, Cioccolata had spent most of the day exploring the main building, in order to satiate his curiosity and acquaint himself with his surroundings.
In order to not attract too much attention, he’d refrained from wearing too much make-up that day. Cioccolata couldn’t say he felt uncomfortable without his dark lipstick or his facial paint, though it had brought him some minor distress, as he’d spent some time perfecting his appearance. Regardless, he’d brought his preferred golden earrings, as well as a strong need to pierce one of his eyebrows, which he’d kept at the back of his mind.
It had been a hospital like any other. Doctors and nurses walking and guiding patients around, people seeking diverse kinds of tests, and long hallways, as well as people waiting to be attended. In some ways, it had looked similar to the dreaded nursing home at which Cioccolata had previously worked.
Cioccolata had soon familiarized himself with his surroundings, having paid special attention to the operations room nearing the orthopedics ward. His orientational abilities were stellar, and he'd made sure to hone his social skills before joining the hospital.
He was confident, perhaps too much for his own good. If he played his cards right, Cioccolata would be able to spread even more anguish than he'd extended during his youth.
Cioccolata would maintain a kind and honest façade throughout most of the day, taking advantage of his short breaks to get to meet his co-workers. Of course, Cioccolata would care little for them; he’d think of them as docile and disposable, mellow enough to fall for his lies.
Though, eager as he was, Cioccolata wouldn’t start slaughtering patients so early; he would wait for the ideal moments to bring forth his schemes. He’d have to operate all by himself, and make his works of art look like common accidents. Cioccolata wouldn’t be allowed to bring his beloved video camera inside the operating room, so he’d have to resort to his unparalleled memory to record his achievements.
Oh, he was going to have so much fun.
***
It hadn’t taken long for late night to arrive at the hospital. As per his superior’s orders, it was Cioccolata’s first time working late.
The man hadn’t eaten a lot throughout the day: he’d woken up at seven in the morning, served himself a cup of coffee and some toasted bread, and eaten bland hospital food for lunch. He’d also made sure to drink another strong cup of coffee before arriving at the emergency room, in order to keep himself awake. Cioccolata couldn’t say he felt famished, though he wouldn’t mind a small sandwich for dinner.
Cioccolata looked at his ID card again, then adjusted his doctors’ robe to his broad shoulders. He’d always been taller than the average man, with a slender waist to boot, and his robust genetics had blessed him with a well-sculptured body that didn’t require much maintenance. Regardless, Cioccolata followed a solid diet, though his coffee consumption always teetered towards excessive amounts.
The emergency room looked no different from the main hospital: white walls, marble tiles, small rooms separated by blue curtains, bright lights on the ceiling, and a handful of staff members. As it was an unusually relaxed night, which hadn’t been flooded with patients yet, most of them were either seated on their desks or talking to each other, with the rest of them cleaning and securing the suite.
Cioccolata peeked at the waiting room, only to discover the attendant nurses at the lobby rearranging important documents. There was nary a soul waiting, and Cioccolata could make out a number of ambulances parked outside. On the waiting room, some medical magazines could be seen placed on the empty chairs, as well as mildly useful posters and decorations, all of them depicting common emergencies and what to do during them.
As he headed back towards the emergency room, Cioccolata cracked his knuckles, applying some antiseptic liquid to his hands before grabbing a pair of surgical gloves from a dispenser. He didn't put them on yet; instead, he placed them inside one of his pockets, in case he needed them.
Afterwards, he overheard some nurses talking to each other.
“You know, it's kind of odd…”
“What is?”
“Isn’t it obvious? There haven’t been any emergencies yet. It's an unusually quiet night.”
“...Well, we might have to leave early. Perhaps around two or three.”
“I hope so. As much as I like my job, my sleep schedule has gotten terrible these days.”
As the nurses continued speaking to the other, Cioccolata heard the faint sound of droplets hit the outside. It didn’t take him long to recall reading about it on the previous day’s newspaper; unlucky for him, Cioccolata had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Unless the rain stopped within the next hours, he would be left with no choice but to call up a taxi, or have another employee drive him home.
Cioccolata would hate that. He hadn’t joined the hospital staff to meet new people, or mend his lack of social acquaintances. At the moment, he didn’t need to have anyone by his side: a feeling which he’d been dealing with since his teenage years, and which he’d never been able to find a specific word for. Though, rather than a complete disregard for interaction, Cioccolata saw it as him feeling indifferent towards any sort of person, be it his family, companions, and people in general.
It wasn’t just that, though. He didn’t want to attract too much attention, wishing for the least amount of people to notice his presence, no matter how outlandish his appearance could be. He didn’t have many accessories or modifications to show, aside from his earrings, and a dark choker which he only ever wore when going outside. Cioccolata only ever showed his true demeanor late at night, whenever his studies and routine allowed him to head down to the nearest club.
Even at those places, Cioccolata hadn’t found anyone that he could see himself with. Perhaps, he was too proud of himself to even find a partner, no matter how weak or strong his desires could get.
Cioccolata stretched out his shoulders, letting out a small yawn, as the main door to the waiting room opened. He saw a tall, well-built policeman, escorting a young man whom he’d previously arrested; said man seemed to harbor pure fury in his eyes, his knuckles having nearly turned red. None of them seemed serious enough to warrant him a sleepover at the emergency room, though the man looked agitated. The two of them had been soaked by the rain.
“Officer Abbacchio,” one of the nurses ran up to the policeman, stopping little before meeting with the younger man’s eyes. “Was there any sort of quarrel outside?”
“We got a call from this guy’s neighbors,” Abbacchio stated, holding the man with enough strength to keep him from running away. “To summarize, this guy right here got involved in a pretty nasty fight with his girlfriend–”
The man took a deep breath, biting down his lips as he looked at the few doctors and nurses deployed to the room. “That bitch? She’d be better off dead! How could she have done this to me!?”
The nurse rolled her eyes, then made some space for a stretcher to enter across the door, signaling Abbacchio to do the same. The policeman had to forcefully move the suspect away from the path, and restrain him from looking at his partner. Regardless, the two locked eyes for a second, and the younger man finished off by spitting saliva at the person on the stretcher.
“Let’s calm down in there, buddy,” Abbacchio frowned at the individual. “I’ll take this guy to the station, and have my companions interrogate him. In the meantime, I’ll go back to their apartment and talk to the neighbors. They’ll probably have some intel for–”
“You don’t need to do anything,” the man interrupted. His hair was relatively short, as if he’d aimed for a military cut, and his features were rough around the ages, sporting a goatee and two eyebrow piercings. He sneezed, sniffling his mucus back inside his nose, and looked at the employees in front of him. “We were just bickering over some personal stuff, and that’s all. She just had an accident!”
“Doesn’t look like that,” Abbacchio scowled back at the man. “Your name was Nocciole, right? Whatever. You’d probably want to jot down a little, or else, I’ll ask those friendly workers over there to sedate you.”
As the man continued growling and complaining at Abbacchio, the policeman finished taking him outside, and forced the man to enter the vehicle. Meanwhile, the nurses and Cioccolata turned their attention towards the person on the stretcher, and took them to one of the many stations within the building.
Cioccolata took some moments to examine said person.
The patient’s wounds had turned into a number of bruises, showcasing different sizes and hues, the most notable one being located on their left eye. While they were conscious, they kept a blank expression, as if the shock from their previous fight had been too much. Their body was slender, perhaps too much, as their collarbones could be easily noticed below their neck, on which there were apparent signs of a choking attempt.
“Heart rate of 62 over 100. Though they are responding to stimuli,” one of the nurses spoke, as she further examined the patient, looking for possible fractures, “they’re not speaking or reacting at all.”
Cioccolata cleared his throat. “Any important injuries, besides their contusions? Given their lack of responses,” he paused, as the nurse sensed the patient’s limbs, “it’s likely that they sustained damage somewhere on their head. Check its back.”
Following Cioccolata’s command, another nurse began feeling the back of the patient’s head. As he withdrew his hand, Cioccolata noticed the blood stains on his fingers and palm. Guessing that it must’ve been a superficial wound, he ordered the same nurse to turn the patient’s head to the side, which confirmed Cioccolata’s assumptions: it had been a shallow wound, nearing the person’s right ear, dyeing their light hair a deep vermillion.
Cioccolata signaled the previous nurse to retrieve some gauze, studying the idea of placing the patient under anesthesia in order to fix their injuries. He leaned closer to his patient: the two of them locked eyes for a moment, as Cioccolata felt their cold stare against his vision. For a split second, he believed that the patient was able to read his true intentions.
Acquiring the gauze from the nurse, Cioccolata pressed it against the patient’s wound, allowing the fabric to soak up its blood, while the female nurse finished examining their limbs.
“We believe their partner may have fractured one or more of their ribs,” she commented to the doctor before fixing her eyes on Cioccolata’s hand. “Looks like they’ll have to undergo a short operation. Have they said anything?”
“They haven’t reacted much,” Cioccolata responded, observing as both nurses continued patching up the patient. “They seem detached to their surroundings, and our current treatment doesn’t seem to be eliciting any reactions from them. I’d suggest they’re experiencing a dissociative episode, but that is just my opinion.”
“Is it okay to proceed with surgery, then?”
Turning his eyes towards the patient, then back to the nurses, Cioccolata gave the female nurses’ suggestion some thought. The patient’s wounds and blood loss didn’t suppose an immediate emergency; it seemed like their mental state was a more serious predicament. They still hadn’t said a thing, and their movements had been minimal, having only reacted to the nurse which had been checking their possible fractures.
Cioccolata noticed his patient nod at him without haste, as if they were giving him permission to continue. Having made his choice, he gathered the nurses’ attention. “Yes,” he responded, his fingers having become tainted with blood from the gauze. “Get the operating room ready. It won’t take long to fully patch up this person, but I’d like to make sure their injuries don’t get out of control.”
The male nurse stretched out his shoulders, then turned back to the patient. “Could it be possible for their head injury to affect parts of their brain?”
“It’s highly unlikely,” Cioccolata answered, signaling the same nurse to head towards the operating room. “From what it looks like, they must’ve hit their head against a piece of furniture, or a wall. Had it been deeper, I would’ve immediately sent them to the theater.”
Diligent as he may be, Cioccolata lamented the fact that he was surrounded by others. Had he been by himself, he would’ve sent his patient to the theater, though not for a good reason.
***
Cioccolata had arrived home at around three in the morning, having taken a taxi, as the effects of the caffeine in his blood had dwindled towards the intervention’s end.
As he’d guessed, it had been a short operation, which had lasted close to an hour and a half. Throughout its course, the unit had discovered that the patient had acquired a number of small fractures across their body, which the female nurse hadn’t been able to notice. The wound on their head had been properly sutured with a horizontal mattress stitch, while their fractures had been immobilized with casts.
Prior to falling asleep, Cioccolata's thoughts had revolved around that person. There had been something about them which had fascinated him; Cioccolata wouldn't be able to rest until he managed to find out the answer.
Something about their eyes.
He'd locked eyes with his first patient, and it had stopped his heart for a brief moment. Whoever that person had been, their eyes had seemed to read deep into Cioccolata’s soul, almost as if they’d figured out his true objectives by just looking at him.
Cioccolata wouldn't allow any of his future patients to learn the truth. They would only become corpses on his path towards his real self, their deaths contributing to his rotten, morbid curiosity. He would watch them pass away in the middle of a botched operation, his hands bathed in their blood, as he felt closer to understanding humanity.
That person, however, had shown no fear in their eyes.
Almost as if they hadn't been afraid of dying.
***
The following day, Cioccolata woke up much earlier than he usually would. Despite having knocked himself out after the caffeine in his blood had waned, he’d gotten less than six hours of sleep; an embarrassing amount for someone meant to be a health professional.
He’d make up for it with another strong cup of coffee as his breakfast, followed by a cold shower and his typical skincare ritual, during which he’d attempt his best to cover up his eyebags. After putting together an elegant attire, as well as packing up his suitcase, Cioccolata felt like he was ready for his second day working at the hospital.
Cioccolata didn’t live too far from the building: it was a brief ten-minute walk across Naples’ outskirts, during which he made almost no stops to examine his surroundings. The previous day’s cloudy sky had dissipated; however, the earthy smell of rain still enveloped the streets. According to a passing conversation, it had rained until early in the morning, a couple of hours before Cioccolata had woken up.
The man wasn’t concerned about the weather at all.
Instead, his biggest problem at the moment was how he would be blending with the rest of the hospital staff. If Cioccolata wished to carry out his sick experiments, he would need to figure out how to make them seem like an accident. He couldn’t get too carried away, no matter how pleasant it felt. He couldn’t take too many lives in a short amount of time; or else, he’d become untrustworthy.
At the same time, Cioccolata couldn’t let any of his victims live. Only by taking their precious lives would he be satisfied. Anyone who lived to tell the tale would not only expose his deeds and destroy his reputation, but that of his relatives as well. Cioccolata wasn’t the type of person to care about his family, particularly his parents, but he’d be damned if they ever learned about his secret doings.
Before the thoughts could inundate his mind, Cioccolata shook his head, as he landed his feet in front of the building. There were a few people here and there, most of them patients: Cioccolata could see a few doctors having a smoke as well, which he thought of as preposterous, despite his own behavior.
Cioccolata entered the building without haste, adjusting his shoulders as he headed towards the stairs, analyzing the events unfolding around him. Most doctors and nurses were middle-aged, some of them teetering towards the country’s retirement age: Cioccolata was certain that he wouldn’t be working for such a long time.
The man soon reached the orthopaedics department, where he was meant to spend most of the day working at. He observed the marble floor below himself, then turned his attention towards the never-ending hallway: its walls and ceiling, bearing a light gray tone, had been decorated with bland pictures depicting the human body, as well as different kinds of bone fractures. Nothing that Cioccolata didn’t already know.
As he walked towards his assigned patient’s room, he stopped some steps away from it: a group of nurses, alongside another doctor, had stopped in front of the door. Cioccolata decided to pay attention to their exchange.
The middle-aged doctor adjusted his glasses. “Last night was unusually quiet, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed,” one of the nurses responded. “Aside from that girl and her crass boyfriend, there weren’t many note-worthy patients.”
“It’s always nice to see that Leone Abbacchio around here. Despite his young age, he’s pretty diligent. That man sure seems to love his job!”
The nurse giggled, as she handed some documents to the doctor. “Here are the girl’s documents… Hand them to Dr. Dolcio once he–”
It didn’t take the group too long to notice Cioccolata’s presence. The nurses welcomed him, with two of them glancing at him with intrigue, as the older doctor opened a small gap for Cioccolata to enter the room. Cioccolata didn’t pay too much attention to them; he waved back at the nurses, and gave the doctor a gentle, yet forced smile.
“Ah, Dolcio! Here’s the girl’s documents,” the older man showed Cioccolata a couple of reports, which he grabbed. “She’s a little… How should I put it? She’s kind of introverted, though I wouldn’t say that she’s shy. She’s likely still coping with whatever happened between her and her partner.”
Cioccolata took a glimpse at the papers. He took in all the information available regarding his patient, nodding as he inspected the documents, and looked back at his co-workers.
The older doctor shook his head. “And, yes. I know I just called her a girl, but she’s actually in her twenties,” he laughed, scratching at his beard. “I should warn you, though. She’s kind of moody.”
Cioccolata’s dormant curiosity woke up. “Moody?” He asked, as he retrieved a pair of glasses from his pocket, and placed them on his face. “Does she have any behavioral problems?”
“Well, for starters,” the man cleared his throat: his coughing, as well as his deep, worn-out voice, amused Cioccolata. “We don't have a lot of intel regarding her past, and she doesn't want to answer any questions. She also has this odd habit of staring at people…”
“I see,” Cioccolata nodded, cupping his chin with one hand. “I believe she must’ve done that to me last night,” he faked a laugh.
“We believe that Officer Abbacchio might come around later in order to collect some information, so she’ll have to collaborate,” the older man coughed aloud, as the nurses surrounding both doctors stepped away from them. “She will be in your care for now. If something happens, make sure to give us a call, okay?”
Cioccolata watched as the other doctor left him standing in front of the patient’s room, all by himself.
He'd dealt with difficult people many times before. In fact, it was common for Cioccolata to not understand most of the people surrounding him: he had never been good at connecting with them, and had often felt an odd sense of superiority towards them. Some of those people had been part of his own family.
Cioccolata himself hadn't been an ordinary person either. From an early age, he'd known himself to be different from his peers. He'd learned to make himself fit with other teenagers, even if his efforts hadn't paid off for the most part, and the vast majority of his smiles had been fake.
In the midst of an ever-changing world, Cioccolata had figured out who he was, and how he wished to live and express himself. However, there weren’t any specific words for him to describe his identity; Cioccolata knew most people would either not understand, or claim that he could be fixed.
Of course, there was nothing regarding his identity that needed to be worked on. It didn't mean that it made Cioccolata feel any less alienated from society.
But there was no time for him to dwell on those thoughts. Cioccolata had a job to do, after all. His own psyche was secondary.
The man unclenched his jaw, relaxing his body as he gave the documents another look.
His first patient didn't look particularly interesting: there was something hypnotizing about their purple eyes, but, otherwise, they looked normal. Perhaps a little on the odd side, given their eccentric expression, but nothing too unusual.
Cioccolata took a deep sigh as he cleared his thoughts, and stepped into the room, asking himself how his first patient would be treating him.
***
As Cioccolata had been expecting, they were laying on the hospital bed, though covered with two different sheets, one of them being heavier than the other. A nasal cannula had been placed under their nostrils, with a secondary cannula connecting their wrist to a saline bag. The patient’s clothes had been thoroughly cleaned and placed on an chair next to their bed, alongside their other belongings, those being a mobile phone and a wallet.
Aside from that, the room had been equipped with other necessary medical devices, a low table with a television on it, and a small bathroom for the patient to access. At the end of the day, it was an ordinary hospital room.
The patient themselves seemed distracted, their eyes staring directly at the television’s screen in front of them. Cioccolata noticed that this person had been picking at their acne, as their face showed some scarred spots. Their hair was a bleached blonde, showing some dark roots on their scalp, and their eyebrows were on the thinner side. They had a beauty mark under their right eye, and a pair of snake bites under their lips.
What had stood out to Cioccolata the most had been the person’s body. Their collarbones were noticeable enough, and, despite their round face, they were on the skinnier side; though they were not malnourished, Cioccolata had felt concerned for a small moment.
Upon noticing his presence, the patient turned to Cioccolata without haste, their eyes examining the complete stranger that had walked into their room. Cioccolata had no real clue on how to deal with them, though he had an idea on how not to treat them.
He smiled at the patient, hoping they wouldn’t notice his forged smile. “Did you rest well? It was pretty late when you came in.”
The person shrugged, their expression unchanged.
“I would’ve guessed so,” Cioccolata blinked, then walked closer to them. “You’re ____ Rottario, right? I’m Dr. Dolcio. It’s good to meet my first patient.”
“Okay…”
Despite the older doctor having warned Cioccolata about Rottario being a difficult patient to work with, Cioccolata believed otherwise. He knew the exact reason as to why the man and the other nurses would look at Rottario and think of them as a freak. It had been written on the papers, after all.
Cioccolata would be polite enough to not bring it up.
“We have surmised that you’ll be staying here for three weeks at least,” Cioccolata talked. “Aside from standard recovery… The other doctors have likely mentioned that they’d like you to gain some weight, right?”
Cioccolata gave Rottario some time to respond.
“I… I think they did,” Rottario responded. Their voice was on the raspier side, possessing a characteristic pitch that Cioccolata hadn’t heard in ages. “They think… They think that suh, something could happen to me… If I keep losing weight.”
The doctor decided not to specify what would happen to Rottario. He guessed they would be clever enough to know what sorts of side effects their apparent illness could cause. And he would be right.
“Well, I know hospital food isn’t the best,” Cioccolata chuckled. “But you’ll get used to it. Also…”
“Also what?”
Cioccolata pouted as he shook his neck to the side. “Don’t think too hard about how the other doctors and nurses see you,” he commented, drawing Rottario’s attention. “I’ve been in the same exact situation as you.”
Rottario remained silent, as if they were thoughtful. Despite that, something changed about their eyes.
“Say, Doctor…”
“Yes?”
Rottario lowered their eyes, then stared at Cioccolata, as if attempting to read him. “You, uh… You're not an ordinary guy… Am I right?”
Cioccolata didn't flinch at Rottario's words, even though they had caught him off-guard. He kept smiling at his patient, and gave them a calm response.
“I'd like to know what you mean by that.”
“Well, I think, uh… There’s something off ‘bout you,” Rottario scratched their neck. “Like… Y'know how, last night, em, you attended me alongside a couple of nurses?”
Cioccolata nodded at them, knowing exactly what Rottario would be saying up next.
“Say, if… If it had just been you and me… You would’ve done something to me, right?”
Cioccolata didn't answer right away.
Despite Rottario having read his intentions, Cioccolata didn't know what they had meant by something. Their profile had barely made a dent on their past; it didn't look like they would be opening themselves to Cioccolata anytime soon.
When Cioccolata failed to see any sort of fear in Rottario's eyes, however, he felt his smile fade away, as his expression turned blank once again.
“You're pretty clever, aren't you?”
Rottario’s lips curved into a grin. “You're… You're just like me.”
Cioccolata frowned. “How so?”
“I don't really know… It's just a weird feeling, uh, but,” Rottario stared at Cioccolata, unblinking, “Somethin’ tells me that… You're not here to make buddies, or, like, to care for others…”
Cioccolata shifted his eyes to the side, observing Rottario's unchanging grin, attempting to make sense of what they’d just said.
It was difficult for Cioccolata to believe that, after several years of keeping his true intentions hidden from the world, and having managed to spread all sorts of despair over an unsuspecting nursing home, a patient, someone inferior to him, had managed to figure out his goals.
Cioccolata’s first instinct had been to consider taking their life. He would likely asphyxiate them under their pillows, or tamper with their medications. Taking them to the operations room would do the job as well, though Cioccolata saw it as a last resort.
“...Huh.”
Of course, Cioccolata couldn't do that. It was his second day working at the hospital, and, even if he managed to get away with an excuse or two, there was a chance that his co-workers would start raising their eyebrows at him.
Rottario kept observing Cioccolata’s demeanor, much to the doctor’s annoyance. They decided to keep quiet, and wait until Cioccolata had gathered his thoughts together. Despite sharing the same room, only Cioccolata could feel its tension increase by the moment, as he listened to his beating heart while taking long breaths.
But Rottario would break their silence way too soon.
“Saaaay, Mr. Doctor,” they stared at Cioccolata, as if something about the man had piqued their interest. “You and I… Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal? Why would I make a deal with you? We’ve barely known each other for some minutes,” Cioccolata inevitably chuckled, as he felt the tension leave his body with each second that passed. “Besides, and, personally speaking, I don’t know what I’d get out of any sort of deal between the two of us. Is it money? Some sort of pointless revenge wish? The sooner you tell me, the better.”
“Jeez, fine, dude,” Rottario rolled their eyes. “Just, listen to me, ‘kay? I’ll help you w-with whatever you do, and, in exchange… You’ll gain a partner.”
“You don’t seem like you’d–”
Before Cioccolata could finish his sentence, Rottario had placed one hand against the wall behind themselves, causing its firm surface to slowly melt away. Cioccolata hadn’t seen anything like that before; there was no realistic explanation as to what Rottario was doing. The doctor could only observe as one part of the wall turned into some sort of thick substance, just for it to solidify again when Rottario withdrew their hand.
Cioccolata bit down his lip, conflicted, as Rottario continued to grin in front of him. He decided to give Rottario's deal some thought.
If he was going to work on his own, Cioccolata would have to pay close attention to what he would be doing. His botched operations would have to be carefully crafted in order to seem like accidents, and he wouldn't be able to record any of his works of art. Perhaps, he would feel lonely in the long run, but that wasn't one of his main concerns.
Rottario, however, had presented him with an unique opportunity. Though their motives were unknown, they would become Cioccolata's assistant; subsequently, Cioccolata would expect them to follow all of his orders, regardless of how harrowing they were.
The thought of someone showing such devotion towards him, almost as if he were a deity, excited Cioccolata; it pushed him closer to what he believed would be the right choice.
Cioccolata had made a decision.
“Rottario.”
“Yes?” Rottario squeezed their eyes, grinning ear to ear.
“We have a deal.”