The cracked wooden door opens as you enter the freezing dark room. The pungent aroma of the chemicals bites its way through your nostrils. You amble your way through the draughty room as the odd shattered window creaks, almost like it’s singing a conniving song. Occasionally, you pass through a sultry patch and sweat crawls down your back. You walk on the sticky tiled floor, mottled with dried up chemicals as you step onto a splodge of sickly green gooey gel on the floor. You walk past a blackboard as it is scribbled with equations and formulas enclosing every spare black gap. The dust of the chalk is on the ground as the holes on the wall behind it blow it into the air slowly. Your eyes burn as you walk by a large pot that sizzles and snaps in the quiet air, sparks flying out of it like live orange worms as the pot releases copious amounts of spicy brown steam. You walk past a shelf that is laden with bottles and flasks and beakers and test-tubes, each containing a chemical. It is a myriad of colours. The glass flask contains a bubble-gum pink liquid, while a beaker beside it holds a sizzling yellow liquid. A foamy electric blue liquid fills a test tube whereas sludgy green goo piles into a minuscule bottle that can fit in the palm of your hand. You reach the end of the room and there, in all of that darkness, you see the scientist. He sits in his corner at the cluttered table, a tiny solemn yellow light shining on him, as he continually grasps his straggly grey hair with a frighteningly mad look in his animalistic green eyes. A moment of quietness and then the scribbling of the pencil on his piece of yellowing parchment itches your ears as you watch him cackle by himself, his maniac laughter piercing the quietness of the midnight air. He has done it. He has found the formula. He is out to get you.