The camera remains black for a long beat.
The only sound is a steady, rhythmic—
Humm-whirrr—
Like a heavy-duty air filtration system, mixed with the faint, electronic—
Beep... beep... —
of a heart monitor.
Suddenly, the screen splits. A thin horizontal sliver of light cuts through the darkness.
The camera panning to Luka's POV. His vision is a milky, de-focused blur.
Everything is too white. Too bright. He tries to blink, but his eyelids feel like they're weighted with lead.
"○...Am I dead?" his inner voice is a dry rasp. "○Is this the part where I see the light?"
The camera focus-pulls sharply.
A ceiling comes into view. Not the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom or the cracked drywall of the garage. This is made of seamless, matte-gray hexagonal panels. Soft blue LED strips glow in the recesses.
Luka tries to turn his head—
CRKK—
His neck stabs with a bolt of white-hot lightning. He groans, the sound catching in his throat.
"Don't. You've got three cracked vertebrae and enough sedative in you to floor a rhino."
The camera pans slowly to the right.
Darjan is sitting in a sleek, minimalist chair by the bed. He's dressed in a clean, tactical black turtleneck, his massive hammer nowhere in sight.
"○W..wha.. the man?" Luka still in a daze.
He's scrolling through a translucent glass tablet, the blue light reflecting off his calm, sharp features.
Luka now turns his head, searching around. In the white room, nothing special: to his left, anesthesia strapped on a rolling stand; on the left corner of the room, some tools. But right before him on the wall was an open glass window. Through it, people are constantly passing by—from the left, from the right. Some look like doctors and nurses, some don't; some male, some female.
Luka's voice is barely a whisper. "The... girl..."
Darjan doesn't look up from the screen. "Safe. Home. Sleeping off a very expensive dose of amnestics. She won't remember the weird events or the boy who bled all over the driveway."
Luka's fingers twitch. He feels the bandages wrapped tight around his chest and arm. He can still feel it, the static, but it's quiet now. Muffled. Like a radio station losing its signal.
The Camera pans up from the floor, following a pair of obsidian-black stilettos from behind, walking in the hallways, up to a pair of long, elegant legs, finally resting on a crisp, snow-white lab coat. The woman wearing it is striking—her features are sharp yet soft, her hair pulled back into a flawless bun.
The silence of the room is sliced open by the sharp, rhythmic—
Click-clack, click-clack—
of high heels striking the metallic floor, edging closer to the room Luka is in. It's a confident sound, echoing with a precision that demands attention.
The Camera is now positioned at a low angle, looking up from the foot of the floor to the right of the door. From it, a woman appears and stops at the entrance: the same striking high heels, the short white skirt.
The camera slowly pulls up and up, revealing the white coat and finally her elegant face. She holds a digital tablet against her hip, looking down at Luka with a small, knowing smirk. Her eyes are almost seductive but piercing with intelligence.
"Well, well," she says, her voice smooth like aged honey. "The neighborhood celebrity finally decided to join the land of the living."
"○Ah, here we go again." Darjan thinks to himself.
She walks closer, her movements fluid and effortless. She doesn't stop until she's leaning over the bed, bringing with her the faint scent of vanilla and sterile ozone.
The Camera pulls in for a tight close-up on Luka's face. He looks small, his eyes wide and dazed as he stares up at her.
"Who... are you?" Luka croaks, his voice cracking.
She chuckles, a light, melodic sound. She reaches out, using a single finger to gently tilt his chin up, examining the bruise on his jaw and his purple, bulged-up eye like she's inspecting a piece of fine art.
"A bit of a mess, aren't you, Little Hero?" she teases, her thumb grazing the edge of his bandage. "You look like a lost puppy that picked a fight with a lawnmower."
Luka tries to pull back, but his muscles won't obey. "I'm not... a puppy."
"Of course not," she coos, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Puppies are much better at following directions. You, on the other hand, seem to have a talent for finding trouble."
She sets the tablet down on the bedside table and leans in closer, her face just inches from his. The playfulness in her expression shifts, replaced by a strange, magnetic intensity.
"You're lucky you're cute, Luka. It makes the paperwork much easier to stomach."
She reaches out, her palm hovering just an inch above his bandaged chest.
Lukas face gets noticeably red.
"Do me a favor," she whispers, her breath warm against his skin. "Close those big, tired eyes for a moment. Trust me. It'll be the best sleep you've ever had."
The Camera cuts to a side-profile shot. Luka hesitates, his gaze locked onto hers. Slowly, his eyelids flutter and fall shut.
The moment the world goes dark for Luka, the woman's hand makes contact.
Vzzzz—
A soft sound murmurs as her palm touches Luka.
Luka's breath hitches. He doesn't feel pain—he feels a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth, as if his blood has been replaced by liquid sunlight. The "static" in his veins hums in a perfect, harmonious chord.
"There," she says softly. "That should keep the edges from fraying."
Luka's eyes snap open. Confused. He says—
"What was that?" Hearing the soft sound.
"What did you -"
"Save the thank-you speech for later," she pauses at the threshold, her voice echoing down the hall.
Glancing back over her shoulder with a sharp, playful wink that seems to catch the light.
"Ciao, boy. Try not to break anything else on your way out."
The Camera holds on Luka, sitting alone in the middle of the bed, staring at the empty doorway as the sound of her heels fades into the distance. Still a little red.
Darjan finally taps the screen and looks Luka dead in the eye. His expression isn't cold, but it's professional—the look of a man who has had this exact conversation a hundred times.
"○Time to go."
"Hey, snap out of it," Darjan speaks up, waking Luka.
Luka is a little dazed still, but his mind is on the situation he's in—
"Where..." Luka swallows hard, his throat screaming for water. "What is this place? Who are you people?"
"Questions later. You're lucky to be breathing, kid. Most people who see a Darkin for the first time end up as a stain on the asphalt. You? You actually almost put one to sleep."
Darjan stands up. He's even more imposing in this clean lighting, a mountain of a human. He walks over to a console on the wall and taps a button. The hiss of a pneumatic seal echoes through the room.
"You should be able to stand up. The doctors say you're stable. Also, there's something I gotta show you."
Luka grinds his teeth, swinging his legs over the side of the high-tech bed. His vision swims. The room feels like it's tilting at a 45-degree angle.
"I'm not... going anywhere... until you tell me..."
Darjan catches Luka by the shoulder before he can collapse, his grip like a vice.
"Relax. Have some patience. You want to know what's going on? Walk with me," Darjan assures Luka. "Also, drop those bandages; you don't need them."
Luka looks down, confused, but obliges. He starts taking them off and struggles a little.
"Nurse," Darjan says.
A nurse comes from the halls and helps Luka unwrap his bandages. Under, miraculously—
"○Huh?" Luka is confused.
"Did I... was I not...?"
"Don't worry about it, you'll understand soon," Darjan interjects into Luka's questions.