A faint, eerie hum could be heard from somewhere in the labs, more specifically, in one of the operating rooms.
The hum came from a large form hunched over the operating table, which the form was working on a little project. Their hand works quick yet carefully as to not mess with their handiwork. Their project, in this case, was turning a Wrongside Outimal into a makeshift bomb, made with some old mining charges/explosives and some extra poppy gel to hold the bomb in place as to not detonate it (can’t risk making a mess and ruining a perfect good Outimal, after all).
Once the form was done with its project, they sew the Outimal’s stomach shut (as they inserted the bomb and gel in through that way), tying it off with a knot and biting off the remaining thread.
“There now,” The form spoke, their tone awfully cheerful despite the sterile, cold, and death-ridden environment surrounding them.
“Now you are perfect. My savior will love you.”
(it took me like an hour to come up w an ic intro for joy oops..)
From the gaps between ruins, from the silence, they watched, focused singular eye decadent at the sight.
Like everything, noise and silence were tools that could be wielded.
And '06 loved little more but to get to pierce that stillness like a knife. "Hmm, hmm... Another, now sent on the path of redemption..?"
It gently inquired, loping closer on the tips of cold steel blades it walked with.
Observing the tormented, Outcast-Imal as its sad little frame breathed in wait.
