Doctor W.D. Gaster finished his cigarette, shakily snuffing it out in a nearby ashtray. He considered lighting another but dismissed the idea immediately. He had procrastinated long enough.
He sighed and looked down at his desk, regarding the item there grimly. In a heap lay a flimsy surgical gown, colored a sickly green. Appropriate, as Gaster thought he might be sick at any moment. He stood, snatching up the gown, and quickly made his way out the door and down the hallway.
As he neared his destination, the sounds of weeping increased. 2-P was still crying, which was expected but no less annoying. Keeping his face carefully neutral, Gaster