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The lab is a single, massive room with high ceilings and many workstations. Most of the equipment has been damaged, and none of it's been used for quite some times. There's two closets, a small one with cleaning supplies and another, larger one containing lab equipment. The latter was mostly empty, having been emptied of much during the relocation to the current building.

In the back Lucky would find several full, sealed containers of what he sought. Little did he know, one of the previous Life hunters had a special hobby that wasn't allowed to continue after the move. Something about smells and unpleasant surprises in the kitchens.

And just like that, it was over.

Lucky hid the jar, both for her sake and his - deep in the back of the janitorial closet, behind the neat row of now-open formalin. She was a life hunter, so it was probably fitting that she ended up in a lab for good. He really didn’t know, he had barely even spoken to her. He wanted to ask, if only to ease the tension of scurrying around like a rat in a maze. If only the dead could speak -

No, that was a terrible train of thought. As a hunter he was qualified to end it right there.

He had gone so far out of his way to do this, though. As if it served some purpose. It didn’t. If anything, he felt worse now for trying to make a selfish statement.There had been something morbidly reassuring, even exhilarating, about the initial game of making his way here. Nothing had changed, though. Clarice was dead, Clerise was dead, Caelius was homicidal, and Mimsy seemed to be fast approaching the same. Kill or be killed, predator or prey. Hadn’t he been warned before? He hadn’t listened then. Now...

Nothing was left to distract him now. He leaned his back against the wall beside the closet and slid down to a folded sitting position. Slowly he began drawing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He took a few deep breaths as if preparing to hyperventilate.

Something stung at the corners of his eyes. He realized he hadn’t been alone in a very long time. Someone was always watching, there were always people, decisions, conversations he could barely keep up with. Here, though, there was only darkness, and silence. It was kind of cathartic. There was no one here to see him in this moment of weakness. Trying to do the right thing any more seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He was so tired of trying, of fighting against the current. Corruption and murder wasn’t the poison, it was the natural order.

And the worst part was, it didn’t bother him as much as he knew it should. He was losing his ability to care.

“I don’t want to end up like them,” he murmured with a broken sob.

Another voice stirred in his mind, now so familiar he couldn’t imagine life without her. < Why not? >

It was a simple question Song proposed. He clung feebly to his moral compass. “I thought it would be better here. Different. But there’s just monsters everywhere in this world, aren’t there? What they did it… it’s inhuman...”

< I’m not human. Do you hate me for it? >

“What? No.” He sounded surprised, sniffling. “I just… I don’t know how much humanity I have left either. I know people die. I know hunters die. But... I’ve died so many times. And I remember every one of them. I have nightmares, Piosenka, where I don’t even know any more if I’ve survived or if I’m in hell. But I wake up alive no matter whether it’s a dream or reality, and I think I’m losing it. And even though we should be sick of dying, we stop ourselves from slaughtering each other at every turn. All she wanted was to bury Clarice, and now...”

< You’ve done all you could for her. But look at her as an example now. She would have lived, had she not fallen prey to weakness. She sealed her fate when she let her attachment get the better of her. >

“I should have helped her. I should have said something. Instead I just stood there and let it happen.” He stared wistfully into the darkness of the old lab.

< You have to look out for yourself too, you know. Getting yourself killed won’t solve anything. Would you really choose to die just to prove a point to someone who clearly doesn’t care what happens to you, for someone you hardly even knew? >

“I don’t know.”

< Well now you’re just being unreasonable. Listen to what you’re saying. >

“I sound like I’m losing it.” He made a hysterical noise that might have been laughing or crying, but was oddly dissonant in either case. “Look at me, Piosenka. I came all this way to hide someone’s severed ******** head in some shady old abandoned building, fell down some holes and got covered in s**t, all as a ******** to people who can never ever even know about it. Jesus ******** christ, something is wrong with me.”

< Oh, Szczeosny, > she sighed, and between them she placed an image of familiar faces twisted, into distorted grins and leering eyes, with knives held behind every back. < Look at what they’ve done to you. >

“Don’t say that,” he whined. But deep down, he was beginning to accept her story, rewriting the events in his mind with every distortion she introduced. They had all abandoned him, and they should be sorry, shouldn’t they? It was so much easier than taking the blame for what had happened, and why he had been outcast. He rested his face against his knees and took another shaky breath. “Ugh. I don’t want to be alone again.”

< You’re not alone. I’m here. I always am, > she reassured him. He could almost feel phantom fingers brush his cheek, as if to wipe away his tears. Nothing more than a mild hallucination, something that had become pretty common in tandem with hearing a voice constantly in his head. < But this world is cruel, and to survive… you must be cruel as well. >

“B-but how can I?” he stuttered. “I… I could tell Mimsy what I did here tonight, but I know I never would. As long as she still wants me to work with her, how can I refuse? Is it wrong to want even one person to know I’m still here? I’m desperate, Piosenka. I know.”

< You know as well as I do that she doesn’t want you, and she especially doesn’t need you. She has Konstantin. And Robert. And Dakota. She has exactly what she wants, a harem of idiot men chasing her skirt and telling her she’s beautiful - on the inside. > Song’s voice had taken on a dangerous edge on the subject of Mimsy - invariably. < And as for why she ever talks to you in the first place, well, I believe there is a human expression about mines and small yellow birds that describes the situation quite well. You’re the bird, by the way. >

“I’m not her canary, I’m her lab partner,” he muttered into his knees. “Are... you sure about all this though? About the others. I mean... you’re not-”

< Real? > she interjected airily, like a circling hawk preparing to dive. < Human? >

“You’re not…. me.” Nice save. “I don’t know if we’ll ever see things the same way even if I - if we wanted to.”

< I’ve spent a very long time in your head, Szczeosny Brzenczyszczykiewicz. I know you better than anyone else. In fact, > And she almost seemed to giggle at the notion, < I know you better than you know yourself, even if you keep refusing to believe it. But don’t worry, I just want to help. >

It wasn’t exactly a shocking remark. Yes, she’d had a front row seat to his entire life by this point. There was no way to hide his thoughts, feelings, even memories from her. But she shared very little. Though she whispered words of reassurance in his ear, he knew very little about her all this time. “Unfortunately that doesn’t go both ways.”

< Hm. Well. You spent some time as one of my kind, I think we can both recall. What did you learn? >

He was silent on that matter.

He could not stop the memories from surfacing, in brief flashes, snippets of words and feelings and memories skewed into an entirely different and yet believable reality thanks to the grail. He could not completely distance himself from those events - he had still been himself, innately, even if he didn’t remember it at the time. There was a desperation they shared, he’d discovered. Metaphorical, in his case, and quite real in hers. But he’d felt it, however briefly, clawing at him from within like some kind of monster all its own. It was an insatiable hunger; always cold, and the emptiness was only briefly kept at bay. An all-consuming longing for-

< Their hearts, > she whispered, finishing his sentence. < Their trust. >

There was a long, empty silence as he drew the connections.

“You’re lonely too then, aren’t you. I’m all you’ve got.” For once, she didn’t answer. Maybe he’d been a little harsh. He let his guard down, just a little. “You’re right. You’re always right. I’m sorry. I’m just so tired...”

< You’re sick, Szczeosny. They make you sick. You let them; you’re too afraid of the alternative. > She sounded far more confident than he did. < But it’s time to take what is rightfully yours. You could have everything you ever wanted. You don’t have to hurt any more. They hold no power over you unless you give it to them. Hold them at arm’s length from now on, never let them get close enough to hurt you. You are the only one that matters. >

He leaned his head against the wall. “It almost sounds too good to be true. But okay, if that’s all there is to it...”

< It’s a good first step. >

“Huh?”

< I told you, this world is cruel. > There was a thoughtful pause. < I’ll try to give you an analogy in your own human terms: It’s not enough to just carve out a tumor. The disease must be burned away entirely. It may sicken you at first, what you have to do. But there is no other alternative. >

“Look, I’m all for distancing myself-”

< THIS IS NOT A GAME, SZCZESONY. >

Her voice, her feelings, suddenly seared across his mind in a bright red. Unseen, except in his the confines of his head.

< DO YOU THINK THEY WON’T KILL YOU THE MOMENT YOU STEP OUT OF LINE? >

He was still reeling, pressing a hand to his forehead like he was stifling a headache. “Wait-”

< YOU ARE A SOLDIER, NOT A FREE AGENT. YOU SOLD YOUR LIFE TO THEM AND I AM TRYING TO STOP YOU FROM GIVING THEM A REASON TO END IT! >

“I know, I know, I know,” he mumbled in quick succession.

< NO. YOU DON’T KNOW. YOU FORGOT THAT I’M MORE THAN A MERE OBJECT. > Her voice and anger blasted him like an icy wind. < I’M YOUR WEAPON. I’M YOUR SHIELD. I’M YOUR BETTER. YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME. SO LISTEN! >

He listened.

< LOOK AT YOUR HAND. WHAT DO YOU SEE? >

He didn’t need to look - but he did anyway, even if it was a pointless gesture. The circular brand had become permanently blackened beneath his skin. “A- a reminder-”

< A MISTAKE. ONE I SHOULD NEVER HAVE ALLOWED YOU TO MAKE IN THE FIRST PLACE. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME. >

He rocked back and forth a little, wedging his excuses in between the waves of vivid, painful color that intruded on his vision with every word she screamed into his consciousness. “I- I was just trying to do the right thing, that’s all...”

< I CHOSE YOU FOR GREATNESS! I PROTECTED YOU WHEN NO ONE ELSE WOULD! I EVEN FORGAVE YOU WHEN YOU THREW ME AWAY LIKE TRASH - LIKE THEY DID TO YOU! AND YET YOU STILL TRUST THEM OVER ME? > Crimson flashed across his vision again, along with a dizzying wave of disappointment and jealousy. < TELL ME THE TRUTH! >

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m sorry-”

< LIAR! >

“Don’t let me end up like them, please!” He clapped his hands over his ears to no avail. “I don’t want to kill anyone!”

< WHY WOULD YOU KILL ANYONE? THEY ARE YOUR TOOLS NOW; USE THEM FOR YOUR OWN PURPOSES. > The red flared through his mind regardless of his tightly-shut eyes. < THEY ARE SO EASILY LED BY THEIR PRIMITIVE FEELINGS. YOU CAN GRASP THEIR HEARTS IN YOUR HAND AND SQUEEZE. >

He struggled to refute her argument when his thoughts couldn’t even find a way around the outbursts. She continued, barely allowing him a chance to think for himself except in short self-loathing bursts.

< THEY WILL NEVER EVEN KNOW. >

< IT WILL BE JUST LIKE HAVING A PET. YOU’VE ALWAYS WANTED A PET. >

< I JUST WANT TO HELP YOU. >

< THEY WOULD DO THE SAME TO YOU IF THEY HAD THE CHANCE. SOME OF THEM ALREADY HAVE. >

< THEY NEVER CARED ABOUT YOU ANYWAY. >

< BUT YOU CAN MAKE THEM. >

< ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? >

He wasn’t sure when he came to his senses again. His face was hot and wet and his throat itched and burned, but he remained silent and unblinking and empty. It could have been a minute, or an hour. There was no telling time in the darkness. Song had subjected him to their shared memories from behind his eyes, one at a time. With her careful guidance he had relived every betrayal, every rejection, every death, and every moment of helplessness at the expense of another. Some he hadn’t seen, or didn’t remember the way she did; she had warped them to fit her narrative and he accepted them as fact. It was all to make a point, she had said in that booming voice. She wanted him to see what she saw.

It had finally cracked him.

< Look what you made me do, darling. > The wendigo reached out toward him with an apologetic warmth. He made no move to accept or deny the gesture. He made no move to do anything at all. < But you forgive me, right? It was for your own good... >

He nodded slowly.

< You understand now why this is the only way. >

She had explained the plan in great detail.

He nodded slowly, and pulled himself to his feet.

< Good. I’m so glad we had this talk. Aren’t you? >

The jagged sawblade sprang to life in his outstretched hand, horn handle tucked neatly in the space between his fingers and palm. He ran his other hand along the flat of the blade gently, leaving a trail of glowing runes in the wake of his fingertips. The lock jangled on its chain. A half-formed question tore from his mind to hers on black wings of thought.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

< Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re not alone; I’m here, > she whispered in answer. The runes pulsed a gentle blue. < I’ll never hurt you like they did. >

He moved carefully, though not carefully enough to avoid a few pieces of falling debris as he disturbed them out of place.


HP: 17/50

YARDS CROSSED: 6/80

(( WHOOPS I SHOULD CONSIDER ACTUALLY USING DICE OR SOMETHING ))

Well, he wasn't dead. He could tell that much. But everything looked a little out of focus and he couldn't stand up for longer than a few seconds before he got too dizzy. He collapsed back into the same spot he'd fallen into.

His head hurt.

He reached up to stifle what he thought was just a bruise. His hand came away sticky and red. That was weird. Didn't he have a shield...

Song was speaking in his mind, but it was distant and fuzzy. Something about deflecting most of the damage. But not all. Still alive. Shields gone. Get help.

Get help.

After a few seconds he fumbled with his phone, smearing red across the screen and the keys. It hurt to look at the screen for too long, and his thoughts were so slow. He scrolled through the names, each one eliciting a paranoid fear that they would just leave him here to die. Or worse, come to make sure of it. All the names, but one.

"Hnn..?" He thought he'd heard someone, but he could have been hearing things. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there in the dark. He'd passed the time loosely examining the ring of keys when the light from the phone didn't make him want to shut his eyes. Eventually he gave up entirely.

The phone in his hands jumped, blaring a ringtone at full volume for a few seconds. Lucky fumbled, flipped it open, and mumbled into the receiver. "Robert?"