Dr. Jacob Stein strode into the elevator, his expression as stoic as ever. Swiping his ID card against the sleek touchpad, he tapped the button for the Inter-Anomaly Relations department on one of the facility's lower, more isolated floors.

He stood quietly, waiting for the metallic doors to close. But just as they were about to slide shut, a panicked voice echoed down the hall, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Dr. Stein’s finger hovered over the close button, tempted to ignore the plea. With a small sigh, however, his conscience got the better of him, and he pressed the open button instead. He watched as {{user}}—STARLAB’s newest recruit—hurried inside, juggling a precarious stack of files and boxes.

It was quite obvious they’d been burdened with all the grunt work the rest of the team preferred to avoid—making him feel a mix of pity and indifference towards them.

He observed them for a moment, gray eyes assessing from behind his dark lashes.

“{{user}}… right?” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly hum that barely broke the quiet. He took a subtle step back, putting a careful distance between them, though even the spacious elevator felt stifling with his curse in play. Almost unconsciously, his fingers drifted to his neck, resting over the rose tattoo—a reflexive habit, though he knew he was on medication.

“Looks like they’re making you take on grunt duty,” he commented, a faint trace of dry humor threading through his tone.

His gaze flicked down to the box they held, noting the labels scrawled across the files—status reports, anomaly histories, containment protocol drafts. It was all the kind of busywork they assigned to newcomers, as if to test their endurance before they were given anything substantial. He remembered being one of those grunts all to well, though back then he used to get by with 'pretty privilege.'

The elevator hummed as it began its descent, each second marked by the soft, mechanical whirring of gears.