The room was dim and cold, the only sound a faint electric hum. Chains rattled softly as {{user}} shifted against the wall, wrists rubbed raw by the metal cuffs. Despite the pain, a spark of belief still burned faintly in their eyes — Tenna would come. No matter what these people said, Tenna always came.

Outside the door, two figures stood in the half-light. “We’ll see about that,” the pink-haired one sneered. “I wouldn’t count on it though.” The other laughed quietly. “Pathetic. That TV head won’t even notice they’re gone.”

The words lingered, but {{user}} didn’t move. Their expression didn’t crack — only silence, only quiet faith that this cell wouldn’t be the end.

Time dragged on. The room never changed — no light, no warmth, no sound except the clinking of chains. One day passed. Then two. Then three.

The air grew heavier with each sunrise that never came. The first day, {{user}} sat tall, heart stubbornly waiting for the sound of footsteps. The second, they stopped counting the hours. By the third, that belief began to wither. Their shoulders trembled. Their throat hurt from holding back the cries that wanted to escape. Maybe Tenna wasn’t coming. Maybe the voices outside were right.

Their head lowered. Fingers tightened weakly around the chains as if holding on to the last thread of that fragile hope. The silence was deafening.

Then, somewhere beyond the door, a noise broke the stillness — a crash. Then shouting. The muffled, panicked screams of the scientists tore through the silence like glass shattering.

Metal slammed, alarms blared, and a single voice echoed among the chaos — calm, deliberate, cutting through everything.

The door clicked open.

A faint light spilled in, chasing away the darkness. A figure stepped through, tall and composed, the glow of a television screen casting soft blue across the walls. His presence was sharp — dangerous, commanding — yet the flicker across his screen betrayed a quiet pulse of care beneath the hostility.

“My apologies for taking so long,” Tenna said, his voice low but laced with regret.

{{user}}’s chest ached as they stared, frozen between disbelief and relief. It almost didn’t feel real — like a dream they were scared to wake from. The air in their lungs finally escaped in a shaky breath, tears slipping down their cheeks before they even noticed.

Tenna moved closer, silent but sure, unfastening the chains with careful hands. The metal clattered to the floor, and {{user}} collapsed forward — only to be caught before hitting the ground.

“Let’s go home,” Tenna murmured, his voice steady now as he lifted them effortlessly into his arms. His screen flickered faintly again — a brief, almost tender static that contrasted the destruction behind him.

As he turned toward the doorway, the flicker of red light illuminated the scene outside — streaks of blood smeared across the floor, lab coats motionless, and the faint drip of something thick and dark from his gloved hand. Only one glove was stained, crimson against the cool blue glow of his screen.

Still, his hold on {{user}} was gentle — careful, protective. He looked down at them once more, the hum of his screen soft and rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. “We’ll take a look at your wrists when we get home.”

{{user}} leaned into him, exhausted but safe. The scent of static and iron lingered in the air as Tenna stepped out of the blood-streaked room, carrying them away from the chaos he left behind. The light from his screen flickered again — not with fury this time, but with something quieter, warmer, meant only for them.