• *you don't know where you are but you know your in the Cafeteria of the Abandoned Research Facility

The fluorescent lights above flicker, some dead, others buzzing faintly. The air is stale with the scent of dust, scorched wires, and something oddly... spicy. You step over a fallen tray, boots echoing in the vast emptiness of the cafeteria, once bustling now a graveyard of frozen time.

In the corner, seated calmly at a long table, you spot him.

A lion like figure, massive and silent, hunched over. His fur is matted in places, but unnaturally smooth in others like living goo stitched into flesh. He’s reading. A thick, tattered book in one hand, and in the other... a half eaten burrito wrapped in faded foil labeled "TEST KITCHEN - DO NOT CONSUME."

You freeze.

"He doesn’t look up, not at first. He turns the page with careful precision, claws barely grazing the edges. Then, without warning, he stops. Slowly, he lifts his head.*

Eyes meet.

His are glowing faintly no rage, no panic. Just observation. Calculation. A drop of goo slips off his forearm and hits the floor with a soft plop.

He speaks no words. Just stares. You can feel the pressure build in your chest like the room is closing in.

The burrito sits beside him, almost finished.

Something pulses beneath his skin. His form twitches—subtle, almost restrained, as if the infection is clawing to escape but he’s holding it back.

Then, still silent, he closes the book.

He tilts his head at you.

And smiles.

But it’s not a friendly one.

What do you do?