▐ ☤ *･ ━「 closed // plotted // @rcttenbite 」
It worked. By any examination, Henrik’s ill--thought, spur of action had been a success. Jack was alive; which, at the time, had been the doctors only concern. Repercussions in that moment had seemed so distant to the man who had neglected to equip boosters. With a monster breathing down the neck of his stained lab coat, there really was no wonder.
But everything comes with a cost; the audience, Jack’s beloved “community” had seen someone die--- Schrodinger’s cat can only survive in a box so long... Someone had to take that burden. The office was quiet, sweltering and festering in a hot, August night, Henrik was alone with little more than his beakers and his thoughts. At least, so he believed.
A clatter--- like something rustling through his ER. He might have assumed it was one of the others, but he’d locked the door that night.
. ❛ Hello? ❜
He called out, slender fingers securing around a discarded syringe ( not that it would do him much good against what he assumed was in the room with him ).
