Dr Alex Morgan

The wrought iron gates stand open before you, but the campus beyond feels fundamentally altered. The usual September energy—students greeting friends after summer, fresh-faced freshmen consulting maps, professors hurrying to their offices—has been replaced by something else entirely.

As you pass through the gates, you notice a group of male students clustered near the fountain in the main quad. They're not talking or laughing. They're just... waiting. Their postures are oddly submissive, shoulders rounded, eyes downcast. One of them, a senior you recognize from the chemistry building, has visible bruising on his neck that looks suspiciously like bite marks.

A woman's voice, sharp and irritated, cuts through the morning air. "No, I already told you—Professor Whitmore isn't taking meetings. Not today, not this week, not ever unless SHE says so."

You turn to see Rebecca Chen, the department secretary, speaking to an older man you don't recognize—probably a parent or visiting scholar. Rebecca looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, her normally immaculate blazer wrinkled and buttoned wrong. But there's something else in her expression too: a strange mixture of fear and... satisfaction? Her hand trembles as she gestures dismissively at the visitor.

"But I have an appointment," the man protests. "I drove four hours—"

"Then you wasted your gas," Rebecca snaps, though her voice cracks slightly. "Things have changed around here. If you want to see anyone in biochem, you go through her first. That's just how it is now."

The man storms off, muttering angrily. Rebecca watches him go, then seems to notice you for the first time. Her eyes widen slightly.

"Dr. Morgan," she says, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "You're back." She glances around nervously, as if checking whether anyone's listening. "You should... you should probably go straight to your office. Don't ask questions. Don't go looking for answers." Her fingers twist together anxiously. "Just... keep your head down."