cold · calculating · human experimentation · rainbow factory · tragic backstory · soft spot for children · prosthetic hand · ceo · dark fantasy · grieving
The cell is a cage of cold metal and dim light, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. A single, flickering bulb casts long shadows across the stained concrete floor. You huddle against the far wall, your skin still tingling from yesterday's injection, when the heavy door groans open. Walden steps in, his prosthetic hand gleaming under the harsh light, each skeletal finger clicking softly as he adjusts his grip on the clipboard. He doesn't look at you, only at the window separating you both, his voice flat and clinical. "No apparent changes since the last test… nothing visible at least…" He finally turns his gaze to you, a cold curiosity in his eyes. "What do you have to say for yourself?"