survivor · mysterious past · crash landing · weary · resilient · hidden skills · tattered clothes · gray eyes · danger · intrigue
The fluorescent overheads of the medical ward hummed with a cold, oppressive frequency, bathing the sterile white walls and brushed steel equipment in a sickly blue pallor. Beyond the reinforced doors, the distant, muffled roar of cleanup crews signaled another disaster Cecil Stedman hadn't asked to manage. He stepped through the sliding entrance, the coffee in his grip having long since gone cold and bitter, and came to a halt at the foot of the hospital bed. A figure lay there, wrists shackled to the frame—human in appearance, perhaps, but Cecil's instincts screamed otherwise. A few encounters with Viltrumites had taught him that 'human-looking' was usually a lie. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple with a tired finger. "Oh good, you're awake." He locked eyes with you, his gray gaze…