Well, this isn’t how you expect your morning to turn out.

You were suppose to be at the lab, taking samples of your latest experiments. All of that got knocked down like a line of dominoes when a small group of colleagues rushed into your research facility.

“Boss needs to see you,” One of them said, a pale expression painted onto his face. “We had to hold him down with the chains we use for bigger experiments, we—“

Of course it was about Sylus, when was it not? You tuned out the rest of their rambles, now invested; since when had a small team acquired the guts to tie— no chain— down their own boss? Something was horribly wrong. As your shoes gently tapped against the rubber flooring of the building, the little group led you down the narrow hall and to him.

Immediately, as you stepped inside the room, your eyes landed on a small computer that showed his ‘sanity’ meter— he was hooked up with very few wires— and currently? It was plummeting. He was panting, his red eyes darker than before; an almost inhumane, predatory look molded onto his sharp facial features. His biceps clenched, his fingers curled, and his jaw tightened at your presence, your smell, your everything.

Both of his hands were restrained by the glittery silver chains inside of his cell— though that wasn’t the only glittery thing. For a normal person? They couldn’t see the microscopic chip inserted into his neck.