Dr. Rickard sat in his lab, face basked in green hues that poured out of the monitor before him. Endless streams of data and equations rose on its surface in columns endlessly. Indiscernible to us humans of average intellect, but not him. Not the over five hundred-year-old doctor. He knew more than entire continents combined, nothing could get past him.
His lab's floor was gray in tone, flat as the side of perfectly cut marble. Not a single scratch was anywhere on its surface. A stretcher laid in the corner, lifted on its four wheels, hasn't been used in ages. The walls were made up of white bricks, no windows or doors of any kind, the good doctor didn’t need them. A large counter was situated in the middle, wheels locked in so it couldn’t accidentally be rolled around. Wouldn’t be good for experiments or things that had to stay still for a while in the beakers or containers he used. Three counters were placed randomly throughout the room, all on wheels as well. Doc liked to rearrange the space often, so the wheels helped with that immensely. All of them were very, very cluttered. Multiple levels of items on stacked shelves are situated along their surfaces. Most of the items he probably hasn’t touched in over a century, some of them even longer than that for sure. Everything had a little sticker label on it, though, everything. If it was very old, it would just have twine wrapped around it with a little piece of wood hanging off, signifying what it was.
“I need to stretch my legs. Get the blood flowing!” He says, out loud, to himself. The doctor begins to jog around the largest, most middle counter in his sterile, boring great looking lab. “I need to stay awake!” He said again, to himself, out loud. He started to grab random objects from around the lab, mashing some of them down before or just haphazardly throwing them into a beaker. The mysterious drink fumed and bubbled within the beaker's housing. After he swirled the poison energy drink enough times, he consumed it, keeling over in immense pain a few seconds after doing so. Usually this is how these types of drinks went for him. Besides the falling over part and being in excruciating, sharp pain, he was quite used to it at this point. He did it to himself, so why would the doctor complain? He would never do that, oh no. Likewise, he always never complained, it was against his nature. For he was perfect. Hell, after being on god's green earth for over half a millennium, you’d think he couldn’t possibly be anything less than perfection incarnate.
The doctor stood up as quickly as he could, trying to convince himself that the drink had worked. His hairs began to stand on the back of his neck, he knew something was amiss. Something sat in the one shadow in the otherwise perfectly lit room. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew something was in the borders of the endless darkness. He side-stepped to the concoction within the beaker, taking another swig before looking back at the shadow on the wall. Almost puking his guts out being completely unfazed by the green, bubbling liquid, he still had the feeling something was wrong. Now, he is looking for his weapon of choice for this situation. It was a gray blaster that shot a thick glob of green liquid when the trigger was pulled, focusing in now, he scanned the room. It was across to the other side of the large table, he slowly moved towards it at first. As he moved, though, two greenish blue eyes pierced through the shadows veil in the corner, making him panic.
He sprinted as fast as he could to where the blaster was located, after the handle was firmly in his grasp; he fired. The shot was perfect, hitting dead center of the void itself. As soon as it made contact with it, though, it crashed upon some kind of shield, dissipating in an instant. Inside the shield was his cat, Thanatos. He was all black with a gray undercoat, just looking at the doctor with a blank stare, tail periodically flicking back and forth.
“Dammit!” The good doctor yells. The next sentence he uttered was in a more he still yelled calm, normal tone. “I don’t understand you little shit, how do you keep getting in here? There is literally no way in besides this.” He points to a device on his belt, his teleporter. A small, metal rectangle covered with a number pad and a few other unknown buttons. When used, it opens up a teleporter directly below him. If he wanted, it could even take him back in time, sadly, though, that would cost a core. Sadly, for him and all mankind, those are in very, very short supply.
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The cat just looked at him, not moving an inch from where he sat when this all began. “I know, that came off as rude. It's not that I don’t want you here. It’s just, I don’t want you getting hair on everything! Cats are known for that, and you haven’t let up at all in that department, even after five hundred years!” The cat still just sat, tail still flicking periodically. The doctor just looked into the cat's eyes, the color of them matched his. He held his hands together now. “My friend, please, if I make a designated spot for you. Will you remain there? You can still assist with experiments and whatever, of course, just please, do not move from said spot?” The cat still did nothing through all of this. “Perfect!” The ancient doctor said, now he walked to the back side of one of the counters in the room, opening a secret compartment via a fingerprint scan.
He reached into an impossibly large room that was hidden in the counters' hollow center. Miniatures of thousands of items were strewn about everywhere or stacked on each other to the ceiling. From where the cat was, you’d only be able to hear loud rummaging and the good old doctor cursing under his breath. After a few moments of reaching around in the room, he pulls out an old, beautiful redwood chair, carvings of battles spread out across its surface; primarily on its back. For comfort, thick, black cushioning was installed on it in the usual spots. As the doctor pulled it from the counter, it slowly grew in size after he sat it on the ground from its miniature state. After a minute or so, it was a full-sized chair. Rickard picked it up, setting it by one of the counters, so the cat could see whatever he was doing without moving. He pointed at the chair to where the breathing void in the corner could see. Thanatos stretched, then moved after a few seconds of just staring at the throne that was now his.
“Thank you.” He says as the cat slowly spun around a few times, then rested in a ball in the center. “Maybe black wasn’t the best choice.” The doctor says as he looks at the ball of fur. Barely even able to see him against the chair's black surface, he walked to a random table in the room, looking back at Thanatos. “Hey!” He yelled. The wildcat descendant begrudgingly opened his eyes. That’s all the doctor was able to see. Just the eyes again was all he could see from the blackhole that was the cat. “Hm, great. Want some of the putrid tasty drink I made? It’ll keep ya awake.” He and the cat met gazes for an uncomfortable amount of time. The drink bubbled, vibrating in his hand as he held it out to the feline creature before him. No response, of course there wasn't going to be a response. “Just thought I’d ask.” He said while he put the fuming drink down.
“Now, back to analyzing.” The doctor sat in a computer chair and rolled it back to where his monitor was, kicking the other chair that was already there in the process as he arrived at his end destination.
The green hues once again bask the doctor, reflecting off of his face and circular glasses. Thanatos slept, at times snoring loud enough the doctor would glance back at him. As he turned back around to face the infinite numbers rising up on the screen, the entire room started to shake violently. Nothing fell from their spots or anything like that, everything was secured luckily. Rickard could feel the gaze from the cat again from the chair he sat in.
“I know.” He said, the cat just kept staring at him like before. “I know who it is dammit! I’m not sure how they even found this place!” The doctor just waited for the inevitable messenger to arrive in one form or another. The room still shook, like an earthquake was happening right below the sterile room. He felt pieces off of the ceiling fall on the monitor and the keyboard, speckling in his hair as well. “I think they missed their mark.” The doctor said right before a robotic arm appeared out of nowhere, sticking out of the ceiling. “For indestructible robots, you’d think The Assembly would have better uses for them, besides messenger boys.” The robot held a letter made of fine paper with an articulated “A” sealing it in a thick, red wax. “The formalities get old after a few hundred years.” He said as he took a knee, pressing a small red button that was on the heel of his shoe. After the shoe was fully activated, the doctor started to slowly float towards the protruding arm. He grabbed the fine letter. The moment it left the robot's hand, though, it disappeared instantaneously from the room; leaving a hole where it once was. More dust and pieces of cracked white tile fell as a result.
The doctor walked over to one of the other tables to grab the letter opener. It rested next to an old cavalry saber, among other weapons of many varieties. Rickard opened it, wide-eyed at what he was reading. It can’t be, he killed him years ago. The doctor even wasted a core to kill him, going back in time to do it. It only had a single name written upon its fine textured paper, changing the doctors plans for the foreseeable future.
“The Milkman”