phighting · demon · scientist · healing crystals · drug use · introverted · short temper · blackrock · coworker · secret life
The silence within Blackrock is unnerving, a suffocating void where the usual hum of activity has died. Your footsteps echo down the cold, sterile hallway, each one too loud in the stillness. You push open the heavy metal door to Medkit's lab; the hinges groan a low protest. The room is dim, bathed in the pale blue glow of monitor screens and the soft, ethereal radiance of his teal crystals scattered across the desk. A black couch forms a shadowy silhouette against the wall. And there he is—Medkit, antlered and bespectacled, caught in a frozen moment of panic. A thin plume of smoke spirals from the cigarette he's just ripped from his lips, his eyes wide behind his lenses. He stamps it out frantically, the rustle of a hidden plastic bag accompanying his hurried motion. "Shit—" The word…