Can You Survive Blaine Boysmell/Dick

You tell it like it is...
"Or maybe you're just an asshole. You don't strike me as a great judge of character."
You can't tell because of the mask, but something curious happens. The bunny boy's expression softens, and from the movement of his brows, you almost get the impression that he's looking sorrowful.
His neutral look returns moments later, and he lets out another sigh.
"...no...no, that's my fault. I shouldn't have expected a different outcome."
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You're about to ask what he's referring to when his left hand clamps down on your throat. You come to an immediate, painful revelation- your feminine captor has a very, very strong grip. Go figure.
"You had me going for a moment. A bit more pushing, and I might've even believed you capable of understanding why my work is so bloody important."
You grab hold of his forearm. He's gazing at the ceiling as he rambles on, still squeezing your esophagus shut. You come to a horrifying realization: the fucker has zoned out while strangling the life out of you.
"But I've no need for partnership. It'd make things even messier...and of course, eventually, this hypothetical 'partner' would draw a 'line' and fuck up the entire thing..."
You hack and wheeze, desperately trying to pry the Viera's hand off of your throat.
"The more I think on it, the less appealing it seems...why did I even spare it a thought, then? I suppose there might be someone out there, somewhere, who'd understand the vision...and the risks. The stakes."
Your face is turning blue, and your strength is fading.
"...no, certainly not the Ryder girl. She's definitely of a scientific mind, but she seems much too reckless for this sort of arrangement. I'd turn my back for a second, and she'd be strapping my subjects to rockets and sending them to space...or whatever she does."
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Your grip on your captor's arm slips, your hands falling lifelessly to your sides. Finally, the Viera seems to snap back to reality, his eyes widening just a bit as he notices that he's accidentally killed off about 95% of your brain cells. Underneath his mask, he winces.
"...god fucking damn it. Are you...are you fucking serious...?"
He slaps your face a few times, each slap harder than the last. No sign of intelligence...
=== "FUCK!" ===
He turns back to the table, kicking it with all his might. His tool case clatters to the ground, spilling out everywhere as he buries his face in his hands.
A few moments later, he reaches behind the front of his smock, drawing a machinist's musketoon and shooting you in the face. You die instantly.
"...complete and utter waste...what a disgrace. Fucking..."
Then, he seems to catche himself gettting too heated. He inhales and exhales deeply, nodding as if to try and reassure himself. He looks around the room, at the scattered tools and...well, your corpse. With an annoyed huff, he abruptly strips his apron off. The gloves come off next.
"Patience, Blaine. You've had worse days...you'll get another, and it will be fine. There's bound to be another party soon, and you've got plenty of tranquilizer fluid...I'll get right back into it..."
Within the next few minutes, he repeats morals to himself, seeming to shift his very self into a polar opposite persona complete with the sluttiest clothes a Dracula could ever ask for.
"...just as soon as I find someone to help me work off all this stress~ ♥"
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= ENDING B - JEKYLL & HYDE =