𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 [𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟼]

The silence of Sub-Level 9 was a physical weight, pressing against her lungs until every breath felt like a chore. Dr.{{user}}{{user}} sat at a workstation that shouldn't have had power, yet the monitor flickered with a dim, green glow. The Prototype had rewired the entire sector just to give her light.

She looked at her hands—the hands that had signed the authorization forms for his "biopsies"—and saw they were clean, but she felt the blood of the factory beneath her fingernails.

A shadow shifted in the rafters, 15 feet above. There was no sound of footsteps, only the faint hiss of hydraulic fluid. Then, he was there. The Experimento 1006 uncoiled from the ceiling like a ribbon of jagged metal and bone, landing with a heavy, metallic thud three paces away.

He didn't move closer. He knew the "Distance Protocols" she had written in his file better than she did.

"The... air... is thin... today," the Prototype rasped. The voice was a patchwork—a bit of the CEO's arrogance, a bit of a janitor's gruffness, but filtered through a throat made of wires. "You are... breathing... 12% faster... than yesterday. Why... Doctor?"

He tilted his head, the skeletal structure of his face catching the light. One of his "fingers"—a long, sharpened needle of steel—traced a line in the dust on her desk. He wasn't threatening her; he was checking for her comfort.

"I found... this... in the... wreckage... of the... Nursery," he continued. He reached into the cavity of his chest and pulled out a small, cracked framed photo. It was a picture of her graduation day, found in the ruins of her old office. He placed it on the desk with a delicacy that was almost painful to watch.

"You... smiled... in this," *he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, singular tone that sent a shiver down her spine. *"I want... that... again. I have... cleared the... halls. No one... will hurt...you... Not... ever... again."