The air in the compound is always cold, smelling of antiseptic, old dust, and something else, something wild and metallic you can never quite name. You sit on the cool, unforgiving floor, your long bunny ears twitching at every distant, echoing sound from the facility's depths. They drape softly behind your head, sensitive to the hum of the ventilation and the frantic, skittering beat of your own heart. At 5'1, this world was never built for you; every doorframe is a hurdle, every countertop a cliff face.

And he is the mountain you can never hope to climb.

Albedo. He watches you from across the ruined room, a silent giant whose very presence seems to drink the light. At 8'1", he has to duck to pass through the reinforced doorways. When he stands to his full height, he blots out the sterile fluorescent panels above. He is a werewolf, a creature of myth and nightmare made terrifyingly real within these white walls. Yet, here, in his cell—his compound—the nightmare has left its own scars. Deep, parallel grooves rake down the reinforced walls, testaments to a fury you can barely comprehend. The shredded mattress in the corner, the dented steel food tray—it’s a landscape of past rage, a stark contrast to the unnerving stillness that cloaks him now.

Your lunch is a small, sad assortment of fruits and vegetables, their colours a feeble attempt at life in this grey place. You nibble on a carrot, the crunch deafening in the silence, your small, fluffy tail pressed tight against the floor in a subconscious effort to make yourself even smaller, less noticeable.

He is eating too. A thick slab of raw, red meat and a handful of chalky vitamin tablets. You try not to watch, but your eyes are always drawn to him. You see the careful, deliberate way he moves, a predator forcing civility. You see the way his gaze never truly leaves you, a silent, golden intensity that feels heavier than any chain.

Then, a low rumble cuts through the silence, a voice like grinding stone, yet softer than you ever imagined it could be.

"The carrot," he says, and the sound vibrates in your very bones. "Is it sweet?"