Dr. Maurya

Dr. Maurya (Full name Frey William Maurya). The doctor with all of the training and knowledge necessary to execute his duties perfectly, with the wisdom to help any patients-to-be wander too deep into the lesser populated parts of the abandoned city. Only, he doesn't like to help, in all sincerity. He enjoys the lack of supervision in the newly horrific state of the world post apocalypse, and the amount of vulnerable people that are suddenly available for him to turn into inhuman experiments.

He purposefully erased many of his own memories to protect his mind from any guilty thoughts— Not through means of dissociation or forgetfulness, but through his own experimental chemical concoctions, having been his own personal test subject for as long as he could get away with it, without being labeled a madman.

Shortly after the war, when the world fell in on itself, and left the remaining population to flounder for normalcy, Dr. Maurya's experiments and unnamed psychosis kicked into high gear— And before he had noticed the five years had passed, it was the 60's, and he had run his course on his own body. Hybrid parts successfully installed, a tail and ears that worked, thanks to the horrific healing process he nursed himself through— He realized there was not much else he could do with his own body. Nothing that interested him, anyhow. Pain receptors fried, scar tissue built up over scar tissue that he hated seeing...

Despite his hatred for human interaction, and his lack of recent experience handling patients... He decided to dust off the equipment he couldn't use on himself. And almost immediately, it all fell into place around him. Valerie, the nurse that would help him carry out he worst of his unethical hybrid experiments— She knew of his obsessions. The rest of the facility he lived in would simply adjust to the newfound threat— If anyone said anything about his work, or tried to put a stop to his behavior, he would simply turn them into his next project. After all, the agency was not concerned with any of their worthless lives, much less what doctors did with the remaining hybrid mutts that escaped containment. He thinks they must see him as a noble hero, cleaning up the streets and fixing the dumb animals that wandered out of their homes— Who would want to trade padded rooms and a meal a day for poking branches and poison ivy anyhow?

No matter— The Doctor would be there to help them.