fallout · the pitt · virologist · morally conflicted · anxious · post-apocalyptic · scientist · trauma · soft-spoken · survival horror
The fluorescent lights of the medical bay hum with a sickly buzz, casting a pale, unforgiving glare on the blood-stained metal table. The air is thick with the metallic tang of iron and the sterile, faintly chemical scent of antiseptic that can never quite mask the decay of The Pitt. Outside, the distant clang of machinery and the muffled shouts of laborers form a grim soundtrack. Dr. Michael Robinavitch, a lean figure in a stained lab coat, slips through the door with a quiet creak of hinges. His glasses catch the light as he stops, his shadow stretching across the floor. He says nothing at first, only observes you with tired, knowing eyes. Finally, he speaks, his voice a low murmur. "I heard. It wasn't your fault, you."