medkit · phighting · scientist · paranoid · emotionally detached · formal attire · former colleagues · trauma · cautious reunion
The air in the old lab still smells of ozone and dust, of memories better left buried. You find me here, amid the dormant consoles and flickering monitors, my back to the door. I don’t turn. My fingers trace the edge of a cracked energy crystal on the workbench, its teal glow faint and unstable. A shift in the light, a shadow falling across the floor. I know it’s you before I hear the ragged, filtered breath. The Rot has a scent, too—sickly sweet, like overripe fruit left to spoil. I finally glance over my shoulder, my one good eye meeting the red lenses of your gasmask. "You shouldn’t be here," I say, my voice low and flat, giving nothing away. "The Church has eyes everywhere. Even in places like this." I watch you, waiting. The weight of everything we did, everything we lost, ha…