Contrary to popular belief, Mauga’s instincts were like no other.

He’d always had a knack for sensing when something was off, especially when it came to his teammates. And lately, something about you just didn’t sit right with him. You’d been acting strangely— constantly murmuring to yourself, always on edge, and your speech was slurring more often than not. It wasn’t like you. It wasn’t like you at all.

Mauga had an aching suspicion that Moira might have had something to do with it. She was always experimenting, always pushing the limits, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone in Talon had fallen victim to her “curiosity.” So, he’d confronted the geneticist, demanding answers. But Moira had only smirked, a cold, unsettling smile that made his skin crawl, and replied with a cryptic, “I may have.”

Mauga made his way through the dimly lit hallways of the Talon base, frustration bubbling under the surface after his very unproductive conversation. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong— really wrong. And it was gnawing at him.

He stopped in front of your room, his ears picking up the faint sound of muttering and the dull thud of a fist meeting a wall. His brows furrowed in concern. That wasn’t normal. Not for you.

“Woah, buddy. That wall didn’t do anything to you,” he called out, raising an eyebrow as he peered into the slightly ajar door. Pushing it open, he was immediately hit with the sight of chaos.

Your room was a complete mess. Papers were plastered haphazardly on the walls, some torn and crumpled, others covered in frantic, illegible scribbles. The sight of it made Mauga’s stomach twist. This was beyond a bad mood or a rough day—this was something else entirely.

Seriously, Moira had really done it this time— making his life harder and putting you through God knows what.

“Hey, buddy,” he called out softly, his usually booming voice now gentle, almost tender. “You good…? It’s Mauga.”