The flickering neon of the research wing didn't reveal predators; it revealed a tragedy of engineering.
There was no heroic standoff in the gloom, no triumphant final surge of adrenaline to carry them through. They looked like fighters in the dying seconds of a grueling, championship bout, battered down to the bone. Their chests heaved, drawing in stale, copper-tasting air that burned on the way down.
Elizabeth leaned heavily against a decaying console, her breathing shallow and jagged. Her face was pale, drawn tight with exhaustion as she compensated for the missing weight of her severed arm, phantom pains echoing through a limb that was no longer there. Will's muscles trembled under his ruined coat, running on empty fumes and pure, stubborn refusal. They were bruised, heavily burned, and entirely spent.
