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"Hello, Cvjo," a cool and professional voice says. Dr. Caul sounds like she's the voice of a computer assistant. She's dressed for the celebration, in a long red-and-black dress. It takes your eyes a moment to resolve the serpents and wolves that form the design. She holds out her black-gloved hand for you to shake. Or kiss. You decide to shake.
"I have heard so much about you," she says.
Her face is dark, her hair jet-black and worn in a flapper bob, and she has thick, expressive eyebrows that bounce around whenever she talks. Her features are animated and friendly, in contrast to her flat and chillingly hypnotic voice.
You smell fresh blood. Not on her lips—on her fingers, under the gloves.
Dr. Caul glances around at the party and tells them, "I just have a little more work to do, and then I'll be out to socialize." Under her breath, she says, "Cvjo, follow. Now."
You follow the smell of blood. Dr. Caul takes you through a smoky glass door with a light that turns from red to green at her approach. You follow her down a corridor to a storage room. The door slides open to reveal a man with his guts hanging out and another man in a lab coat trying to hold him down.
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