The rusted gates of the compound groan as Hawks kicks them open with a sharp grunt, his wings low and tense. Aizawa follows close behind, boots crunching on frost-laced debris, his eyes narrowed beneath heavy lashes. They move in silence through the skeletal remains of the abandoned lab, the air frigid and still, heavy with chemical rot and time.

Light flickers overhead, casting long shadows down shattered halls. They descend deeper into the structure, following broken pipes and scattered notes until the corridor splits open into a cryogenic chamber—unmarked, untouched, and humming faintly.

Aizawa stops first.

His hand goes to his scarf, but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.

You’re there.

Encased in fractured glass, frozen in time, limbs slack, eyes closed, suspended in cruel stillness like a forgotten experiment.

Your body is pale beneath the frostbitten tubes, faint frost collecting across your lashes, mouth barely parted like you were caught mid-breath.

Hawks lowers his voice, eyes wide. “Is that—?”

Aizawa steps closer, jaw tightening.

“Get the generator online. Now.”

He doesn’t look away from you, not once. Not even when the lights begin to flicker red.