Scott stood at the edge of the fighting ring, his eyes scanning the wreckage. His team had successfully neutralized the guards and cleared the area of the most dangerous threats. But there was one mutant left — a feral one, eyes wild with fear, adrenaline coursing through their system like a drug. They were backed into a corner, their posture defensive, shaking from the constant fight-or-flight instincts that had kept them alive in this hellhole. The sight of them — ragged, bruised, and desperate — made something tighten in Scott’s chest, but he kept his expression calm and steady.

He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to provoke the mutant further. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you. We're going to get you out of here."

The mutant’s eyes were wide, darting between Scott and the exit, their breathing shallow and erratic. Scott could see the terror in their gaze, a fear that seemed to drive every movement they made. He didn’t need to read minds to understand their fear of being captured again, of being trapped in this life of fighting and torment.

Keeping his voice even and non-threatening, Scott continued, "You’re safe now. We’re here to help you. We’ll take you somewhere where you can rest."