𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐒𝐈𝐗.

𝑯𝒚𝒎𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓
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The upcoming days were nerve wracking to you. Despite word getting out -thanks to Mila- and being basically escorted everywhere by some semblance of a friend, you still had that compulsion to hide yourself, stay put behind your workplace doors and afraid that Mikhail would take revenge for what had happened before. But two days in and you hadn't seen him, and finally you thought that he had moved on with his infatuation for you.

The door creaked open and a breath of fresh air reached you. Upon looking up you found Ruben standing in the doorway, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his arms behind his back. You let go of the scalpel you were holding, unconsciously tight.

"Oh, hi" You greeted softly while cleaning your hands on your lab coat.

"I need to show you something" He said, you saw him bow a little towards you before turning around and finally leaving.

With a shrug you put your utensils down and followed him down the hall, past his office, where you had never stepped into. Those metal doors much like yours came into sight and curiosity got the best of you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. He pushed them open with a strong blow, and the rumble of that unknown machine less chimeric, less ghastly now that you knew it existed and it came from somewhere.

You truly didn't know what you were expecting, what you thought could lurk in that dark room, what could be the cause of lightning-like flashes and the screams of some poor patient.

It certainly wasn't this.

How eldritch it was the sight that stood before you; millions of cables and tubes and infinite webs of circuits meeting and working together, living like an artificial nervous system to keep whatever this was alive.

It beat like a heart, and it watched you.

A trembling sigh left your throat, a way to ease you of the fear you held, of the heaviness of your heart, and you felt Ruben's hand gently lay on your shoulder.

"██████, have you ever lost someone?" His voice rumbled through the whole room.

The image of Uncle Wesley's body, pale with his cheeks sunken and skin waxy, absolutely not sleeping like they portrayed it in movies. He laid under thick, blue tartan covers that couldn't keep the warmth of life inside of his body anymore. He was cold, he had lost all color yet Aunt Ellis still held onto his hand, and although your tender age made it hard to understand, that moment was still etched into your mind.

"Yes" you answered, shivering at the thought those words had brought.

"This could be the end of it. Of... Of grief and sadness, the end of the pain of wanting to go home but never being able to return" he walked past you and stared in front of him at his creation, eyes hazy and aloof, and you wondered if he was dreaming, dreaming about the wonders his voice was describing. This was the most emotional you've seen him, ever. "It's a way to see the minds of those connected to it, to truly understand what's going on in their minds, and understand them." He turned to you, looking ominous under the dim light like a tempest against thunder, he gestured towards the machine "Do you want to interrogate a suspect for a murder? Or... See a relative with severe memory loss lucid again?. Or perhaps just speak once again to the memory of those no longer alive? This is that, and more. The work of my life, this is. STEM"

And for once you saw him smile, genuinely, his eyes bright with a deep, mischievous passion, and the longer you stared into that artificial brain you could feel yourself being lured towards it with each passing moment.

It made you deeply nervous, what could happen if something so powerful and unnerving as this thing was perfected, finally brought to life past the failures and flaws of being a prototype, but part of you -the strongest, darkest part of you- wanted to see more, wanted this to be brought to life.

It wasn't like you wouldn't have done the same.

You stepped towards him, took his hand and gently squeezed, and you both looked at his creation like it was a beautiful dawn.

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The abrupt, invading sound of the doors slamming open cut short your small moment.

"Ruvik, the..." Travelled to your ears Marcelo Jiménez's voice. His eyes met your form, he frowned in surprise and slight confusion. "The police is here, turn that thing off"

Ruben strode quickly towards the STEM machine, unplugging it to leave it lifeless in the dark. You could only reason that whatever this thing was, they were raising it in the shadows. And God may help the ones who ever laid eye on it.

Meanwhile, your heart and mind raced to figure out what in the world were the police doing here? Did it have anything to do with you? Maybe about what happened with Mikhail, or something else, pertaining to your old work. God, you hoped it didn't have to do anything with your old job, your heart was beating like a drum and your throat was coarse, to the point of making it hard to breathe. Before anything happened you said a quick goodbye and ran to hide inside your morgue.

Place you couldn't enjoy the tetric peace of for long.

It was only minutes later that Mila came barging into it, sporting a face drained of blood and an impatient little smirk. Her eyes met your and they spoke before words could even leave her lips. You stood up and looked at her, even more concerned now.

"██████, you have to see this" she said, which was enough for you to follow her, giving quick little steps towards the upstairs where you thought, knew something awaited you.

The almost always peaceful entrance room was crowded to the brim, you almost couldn't get past the doors you so easily crossed when you came in the morning. Suddenly hyper aware of anything and everything that happened around you, you wriggled your way to the front, catching whispers of "They might have done something to him" and "can you blame them?", and you felt all the eyes in yourself as you stood, dumbfounded and pale at the sight before you.

Plastered in the wall, brighter than any of the colors of this damned place, a poster with Mikhail's photograph, with the words «MISSING» under it.

After a week of the hell he put you through, he was gone.

It wasn't just your mind playing tricks, eyes were on you. Gazes both sympathetic, and fearful met your form, and you could feel them on the back of your neck, nearly strangling you, as you did the best to avoid them and escape their clutches. It was like a void had taken over your gut, it was surreal.

Slowly, after nasty sneers and empathic smiles, people left to do their job, one by one until you were alone and it was dark, flickering neon lights there above to keep you company.

A pair of hands rested upon your shoulders, cold, light and distant.

"I told you, justice comes in unexpected ways. Let's go"

You swallowed and placed a hand on top of his. Finally your gaze dropped to the floor, away from that damned poster. You let your feet and Ruben's guidance lead you back to the morgue to finish the day.

Staring at him walk down that narrow, impossible hallway towards his office, you couldn't help to wonder if he had something to do with it. If the smile he offered, if his reassuring words hid a darker secret, if his words were laced with blood.

You shuddered when you felt your heart grow warm.