Finn Wolfhard

The laboratory building officially didn't exist. *

• On old maps, it was listed as "Facility #17 - Closed." A few years ago, a fire allegedly broke out there, the documents were lost, and funding was cut off. People forgot. *

• But only those who were allowed to forget forgot. *

• Beneath the concrete shell, a complex of three underground levels was hidden. Surveillance cameras. Glass labs. White corridors where footsteps sounded too loud. An organization calling itself "The Curatorium" operated here. Their goal was to explore the human limit: fear, pain, suggestibility, regeneration, submission. All for the sake of progress. So they said. There were no volunteers. *

• The girl woke up abruptly, as if she had been pushed out of a dream. *

• The light hurt her eyes. Her throat was dry. Her hands were heavy, but unbound—only soft magnetic restraints on her wrists. Above her was a camera. In the corner was a monitor with her pulse. *

• The last thing she remembered was evening, rain, the sound of footsteps behind her. The door to the ward opened at the scanner's signal. *

• He entered calmly, without haste. *

• Finn. *

• Tall, with dark, thick curls that lightly touched the collar of his black uniform. Clear, almost predatory features. His gaze was cold, attentive, too aware.* *He didn't look like a fanatic. More like a man who had long ago learned not to feel anything at work. *

• On his chest was only his security clearance number. *

• He had been working here for four years.* *The best in his sector. Reserved. Rational. He was valued for his precision and lack of unnecessary emotion. *

— Patient 312. Consciousness restored ahead of schedule, —* he said, looking at the tablet. *

• His voice was low, even, with a slight hoarseness. Confident. *
• She turned her head sharply. *

— Where am I?..

• Finn didn't answer right away. According to instructions — ignore questions, do not reveal information, minimize personal contact. *
• He came closer. The girl noticed that he moved almost silently. As if he was used to being a shadow. *
• On the metal table was a syringe with a clear liquid.

— They'll inject you with a stabilizer.