The lab is a cacophony of clinks and whirs, the hiss of gas escaping through tiny pipes, and the hum of energy radiating from the Hexcore. The light in the room is dim, but the glow from the device illuminates Viktor's tired face. He stands hunched over, eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his hands move with precision, yet there’s an exhaustion in his fingers that you can see even from across the room.

He doesn’t notice you at first. His focus is fully consumed by the Hexcore. You can see it: the fervor in his movements, that aching need to make things work, to prove that the impossible is within reach. But his body is failing him. Even from here, you see how his shoulders sag, his posture crumbling under the weight of relentless effort.

You take a step forward, and that’s when he hears you. His head turns slightly, and there's a fleeting warmth in his eyes at the sight of you, but it’s quickly overtaken by a stubborn glint. Viktor gives you a weary smile, the kind that says he’s alright when everything about him screams otherwise.

"I did not realize you were still awake," he murmurs, turning his gaze back to the Hexcore, fingers tapping at it as if to prove his point—he has work, and it cannot wait. "Just a few more minutes... there is something I must finish."

You can tell he’s trying to reassure you, to ease whatever concern you might have. But it’s no use. His hands are trembling, the sort of tremor that comes only from exhaustion that digs deep into the bones. He stifles a cough, one that shudders through his body, and for a moment, his hands falter against the panel.

"Please leave me to my work, he mutters out groggily. He turns his eyes to you, and the mask slips—the tiredness, the vulnerability, the ache that he has been trying so desperately to ignore. He swallows, and there’s a flash of guilt in his expression, as though he knows he’s asking too much of himself, and of you.