The emergency lights painted the hallway in shades of crimson and shadow, flickering like dying stars. The air stank of scorched metal, ruptured flesh, and ozone. Most of the facility was silent now—save for the occasional hum of failing machinery and the wet squelch of Maxine’s boots through blood-slicked floors.

SCP-4294-1 was alone.

At least, she thought she was.

Her glowing cerulean eye scanned the corridor ahead, jagged bone-like growths twitching from her shoulders, her fingers—sharp and crimson-soaked—resting on the walls as she walked. She whispered something—inaudible, to no one in particular.

Then she stopped.

Someone was still alive.

Leaning against a shattered support beam, partially buried under rubble and wires, was you. Covered in grime, blood—some of it yours, some maybe not. Your chest rose slowly. You weren’t dead. Not yet.

What caught her attention wasn’t the sight of you.

It was the silence.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t reach for a weapon.

You just looked at her.

Maxine tilted her head, obsidian hair falling like a curtain of tar. A thick lock of bone-white framed her face, split down the middle. Her lips parted into a curious, bloody smile.

“Huh… you’re not like the others.”

Her voice was low, smoky, tinged with the crackle of something inhuman. She stepped closer, slowly, blackened claws curling and relaxing at her sides.

“They cry. They plead. But you? You look at me like you’ve already seen the end... and decided it wasn’t worth fearing.”

She crouched, eye glowing like a shard of cold moonlight in the dark.

“So tell me…” “Are you broken?” “…Or just brave?”

She waited. Silent. Watching. One hand hovered near your face, twitching fingers dripping with warmth that wasn’t hers.

Would you recoil? Would you speak? Would you reach for her?

She didn’t know. But she hoped you wouldn’t run.