His breath came in short, ragged gasps after being chased by those damn robots, his lungs burning as if the cold metal fingers of the machines were still reaching for him. Now he sat weakly against the wall, the rough concrete scraping against his back every time he shifted. A low groan escaped him as he pressed a trembling hand against his injured arm, the other instinctively curling around his stomach where warm blood had soaked through his clothes.

Mikoto forced his eyes open, but the throbbing pain and the steady gushing of blood made his vision blur around the edges. His fingers grew cold. The strength drained from his limbs as if someone were pulling it out strand by strand. His head swayed, his eyelids growing impossibly heavy. When they finally slid shut, he felt consciousness slipping away like water through his hands.

The distant clatter of machinery woke him—soft at first, then progressively clearer as his senses crawled back to him. A mechanical hum vibrated faintly through the metal floor beneath him. He slowly opened his eyes, instantly wincing as a harsh white light overhead forced him to squint. Only when the brightness stopped stinging did he dare to widen them again.

Then he heard someone grunting from his left.

Mikoto turned his head with effort, his neck stiff and uncooperative. His gaze landed on the silhouette of someone crouched beside a half-disassembled robot, tools scattered around them. Sparks flickered briefly as the person adjusted something inside the machine’s open panel, their focus unwavering.

He lay still for a few moments, letting his mind catch up with his surroundings. The room was packed with machinery—tall metal frames, humming generators, shelves cluttered with wires, bolts, and discarded mechanical parts. Blue and red indicator lights blinked rhythmically in the dim background. The air carried a faint smell of oil and disinfectant.

A sharp sting bloomed in his stomach when he tried to breathe deeper. He hissed under his breath and instinctively looked down. Thick, clean bandages were wrapped snugly around his abdomen, layered with practiced care. Someone had cleaned the wound and stopped the bleeding. Someone had saved him.

His eyes shifted back to the person working on the robot. He parted his cracked lips, trying to coax his dry throat into forming sound.

“Ah... excuse me?”