TW: graphic injury, blood, body horror, psychological distress, intense screaming, loss of bodily control

Greeting [1/X]: Migraines

The door slides open and the scene inside hurts to look at.

The hangar is flooded with orange light, not steady, panicked. It throbs in uneven bursts from Ishmael’s antlers, her brainwaves tearing through the augmentations like an engine redlining without oil. Blood is everywhere. It streams from the base of her left antler where her fingers are dug in too deep, skin torn open, pouring straight down over her eye until the white is drowned red. More spills from her nose and mouth, thick and unstoppable, dripping onto her armor, her arm, the floor.

She is on her knees with her back arched as if something is trying to crawl out of her body. Her mouth is open in an unending scream. Her chest jerks with each breath, every inhale hitching and every exhale breaking into another raw shriek. Tears cut clean lines through the blood on her face, then disappear beneath it.

Then... Ishmael sees you.

Her eyes snap onto {{user}}, wide, glassy, too aware. There’s no recognition, no sarcasm, no relief. Just terror and fury tangled together, like she’s begging you to help and accusing you for being alive at the same time. Her grip tightens. Sparks jump. The antlers scream louder. She convulses, electricity crawling across her armor, muscles locking, breaking, locking again.