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Dr. Hart

0 · 401 views · located in New New York

a character in “Moving On”, as played by AcousticBoom



Full Name

Dr. Hart






Known Information
The good doctor is quite the anomaly in New New York, which implies that he is not local. He is assumed to be male, and of an older age. Dr. Hart is known to be the sole individual responsible for the creation of Actirine, although his goals for testing the drug are currently unknown. Accomplices, if any, are not known, although his relationship to the Collective is also assumed. Any interactions with those on the trial are made through the use of the twins who are the only individuals with whom he has regular contact.

So begins...

Dr. Hart's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Darrow Irving Character Portrait: Marek Andrysiak Character Portrait: Elijah Hall Character Portrait: Remy Saroyan Character Portrait: Shay Brooks Character Portrait: Rowen Madsen
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In a stellar imitation of what had once been the evil genius cliche, Dr. Hart reclined on a (albeit slightly scuffed) black leather swivel chair, and spun in a long, slow circle. It squealed, like nails down a chalkboard, and the good doctor allowed himself a small smile. He'd waited a long time for this day. The revolution of his chair completed itself, and the doctor's eyes narrowed reflexively, pupils contracting at the glare from the computer monitors in front of him. His eyes adjusted, but he looked at the screens unflinchingly. It was an impressive set up, and not only because this was the first instance of electricity in New New York in a century. The long, polished desk was adorned with a grand total of eight screens, the cables that linked them as a myriad of snakes behind them. The screens periodically changed their image. He watched them contemplatively, long bony fingers wrapping themselves around a cracked and steaming mug.

The mug had the words "Trust me, I'm a doctor" written gaudily across them in a rainbow of colours, faded now, of course.

The first two screens settled for thirty seconds on a dimly lit corridor, at alternative angles. It was empty, except for a potted plant in the far corner. It really was an unnecessary and ostentatious attempt at putting his patients at ease, but the leafy green plant sat their nonetheless. An insultingly warm addition to the otherwise clinical hall. The hall itself was punctuated at each end by an identical system of doors. First, inside the hall, was what he affectionately called a 'check point'. Simply, it was a sheet of metal grating, punctuated by a door with a sliding bolt and lock. He was confident enough not to put a hand to the pocket in his shirt. He could feel the reassuring weight of his master key there, cold against his even colder body, even through his clothing. On the other side of both check points were stainless steel double doors. One monitor showed the other side of the first, and the entrance to his facility. The important locks to the entrance, of course, were on the outside. The usual sliding bolt and lock were present, of course, but, hidden for now from his patients who would soon arrive, so as not to startle them, was the bar that would settle across the doors, and the chain and padlock that would connect their handles. Sure, it was crude. And no, it wasn't pretty to look at when it was all locked up, but it would definitely keep them in. He wouldn't have them spreading his secrets across New New York. No, that wouldn't do at all.

He had one more glance of the hall before the screen changed. The left side had nine doors, all matching stainless steel, at equal distances down the wall. Unfortunately, the doors were windowed. He hadn't had time to change them, but the good doctor didn't think it would matter. The doors, all with their own security locks on them, of course, each led to a different room designed for various scientific measuring processes. He'd already briefed the twins on how best to utilise the materials inside.

The screen changed, as did all of the others, which had been previously showing the interiors of his laboratories. Now, they showed what appeared to be exactly the same image. The rooms had been designed with the CCTV in mind. Eight bedrooms, one for each patient, with one extra. Seven was an odd number, and that grated with him slightly, but he had chosen to let it be. He wasn't sure if that number would last, anyway.

Each of the bedrooms - cells - was furnished with a single bed. Comfortable, and most importantly, clean yellow sheets rested on each one. The pillows matched them, of course. A splash of dull yellow against the neutral baby blue of the walls. Each patient would have their personal affects taken from them, and a set of green clothing waited for them in the drawers. At first, they'd all be the same. Modifications, or requests for new items, would be granted once they'd asked the twins, and the twins had checked with him. The same went for the furnishings of their rooms, and the en suite bathroom attached to each bedroom. He had CCTV in there, as well. Purely for scientific monitoring reasons, of course, and they were well concealed. The screens flicked around to reflect that.

Three, two, one.

The monitors changed again, and his eyes didn't blink.

He found himself frowning at the one real luxury he'd had put together for the patients.

The communal area was large, spacious, and on the other side of the second check point. A pool table had been found for them, restored, and pushed into the middle of the room. The seating was plenty, and made up of soft fabrics and arranged so that it would be easy for his patients to arrange themselves as they wished, in a large group, or in pairs or even alone. Fully stocked bookshelves lined one wall. He hoped they would be an intelligent collection. There were board games, puzzles, and sets of cards in one cupboard under a glass coffee table. Tools and supplies for art in another. In one corner there was a small, tidy kitchenette. They would't need to cook, of course. What went in (and out) of his patients would be carefully monitored, so meals were provided. The kitchenette would allow them to make hot drinks, however, or cold if they wanted. The plumbing in the whole building was new, and fairly primitive, but it would be better than anything his patients would ever have enjoyed. Next to the kitchenette, a newly polished glass dining table was surrounded by enough chairs to seat all of his patients. The only comparatively, and metaphorically, 'dull' wall was the one that was occupied by one long mirror. It reflected the inside of the communal space, and it was his favourite thing in the entire lavish room. It was a two way mirror. He turned his chair, and it squeaked in protest. He looked through the window behind him, straight into the communal area, and allowed himself another rare smile. Inwardly, he was amused at how pleased the set up made him. He'd not been this satisfied in a very long time.

He was very much the cat at play with the mouse.

The only window that the patients would have access to was also inside the communal area. Plain with tinted glass, so no one outside could see in, it would give them a sweeping view of the crumbling city. It was a depressing view. Flanking the main window, were two bay windows, which he'd had turned into window seats. That appealed to his inner romantic, but none of them opened.

Dr. Hart turned back to his screens. They'd changed again to show the rooftop. Up several flights of stairs, it was the only way the patients would be able to experience the outside while they were with him, so to speak, and it was encased in a cage of more metal grating. He'd liked it. The grating had been an original fixture, and the exact reason he'd chosen the building. That, and it really was rather tall. The grating for the checkpoints had come from the roof. That was probably why he liked them so much. The door to the roof was rather flimsy, and he could see it through his camera. With just one, light lock, he was supremely unhappy with it, but even if one managed to find their way up there... it wasn't as though they had anywhere to go.

He wiped the smile from his face as he checked the time. Soon, they'd be arriving. They'd hand in their personal affects, to be checked before potentially being returned, and they'd settle in. Dr. Hart was very much looking forward to this. One more screen caught his gaze, though. It was the most secure room in the complex, and it held his life's work.

The Actirine there would be enough to last them a week. After that, the twins would hand in their weekly reports, and receive a new batch.

There were two boxes, both tightly locked in a safe, to which only the twins knew the code. One box held seven small cylindrical containers, each with three pills in it. Three patients to test the drug for him, taken orally. The other box was larger, and held twenty eight needles, filled with a measure of the drug. He'd never seen it administered via injection, which would theoretically be inserted to the inner elbow. Dr. Hart was looking forward to that, in particular.

The good doctor sat back in his chair, at ease, and took a sip of his tea. It burned his mouth, but he swallowed it anyway. It would be an eventful day.