Dead Plate Oneshots You Are Human

The stark white walls of the facility never failed to make Rody uneasy. They glowed with a cold, clinical light, as if mocking the warmth and life that should have existed within them. In this secret government laboratory, everything felt wrong. This wasn’t science, not in the pure sense. It was something darker, something twisted, all under the guise of progress. Rody had learned to live with the guilt, but every day the weight grew heavier.

He adjusted the tight collar of his lab coat as he made his way down the sterile halls. The air smelled of antiseptic, masking the faint scent of something more acrid beneath. The researchers here were good at their jobs, at keeping the horrors hidden from view. But no amount of sterilization could cleanse what happened behind these closed doors.

Rody hated it. Hated the endless cycle of experimentation, the way they stripped the test subjects of their identities. Stripped them of their humanity. The others in the facility didn’t understand—because to them, the subjects weren’t human at all. They were created here, artificial life born from experiments, brought into the world with no family, no history, no future. Just a purpose.

That was the justification they used. Rody could hear the words echoing in his mind, the way the other researchers justified their actions over and over. “They’re not people. They’re tools. Designed for a purpose. They never had lives to lose.”

But it was a lie. No matter what they told themselves, Rody couldn’t accept it. He saw the test subjects flinch in pain, their eyes widen in fear. They felt everything. They suffered. They were human in every way that mattered.

Except for Vincent.

Vincent was different. He was the anomaly in this place, the exception to all the rules. Born from an experiment just like the others, but something in him had developed beyond what anyone expected. His intelligence was unparalleled, his mind quick and sharp, capable of calculations that left even the most seasoned researchers in awe. They trained him, molded him into one of their own. And now, he worked among them, experimenting on the very beings who were created like he was.

Rody had never been comfortable around Vincent. There was something unsettling about the way he moved through the lab, cold and calculated. He was brilliant, no one could deny that. But it was the kind of brilliance that made you uneasy, that hollowed out a person and left them a shell of what they could have been. Vincent lacked something fundamental, something Rody couldn’t quite name but felt in his bones.

Maybe it was empathy.

Vincent didn’t care about the test subjects or himself. He never flinched when they screamed, never hesitated when the data required further pain. To him, they weren’t people. They were objects to be used, just as he had been used once, and he had no qualms about it.

The thought chilled Rody to the core.

He turned the corner into Lab 32, Vincent’s assigned space. Today, he was supposed to assist in another round of experiments, something to do with neural manipulation. The details were already making Rody’s stomach turn.

But as he stepped inside, something was wrong.

Vincent stood at the far end of the room, facing one of the workstations. His posture, usually so rigid and composed, seemed slightly off, his movements slower than normal. Rody took a step closer, his gaze narrowing in confusion.

Then he saw it.

Vincent’s face, usually pale but untouched, now marred by a dark hollow where his left eye should have been. His eye socket was empty, a stark void of raw flesh and tissue. Blood had dried around the wound, but the way Vincent stood, calmly typing something into the console, made Rody freeze in horror.

“Vincent—” Rody’s voice caught in his throat, choking on the shock. “What the hell happened to you?”

Vincent turned slowly, his expression blank, as if the injury was of no concern at all. His one remaining eye fixed on Rody, the other side of his face grotesque in its vacancy.

“An experiment,” Vincent said calmly, as if discussing the weather. “It went wrong.”

Rody felt his stomach lurch. He had seen plenty of terrible things in this place—disfigurements, mutilations, agonizing pain—but this was different. Vincent had been subjected to experiments before but they weren’t anything like this. They never caused any irreversible damage. But now…

“Why—why didn’t anyone help you?” Rody stammered. His hands shook as he pointed at the empty socket. “Why didn’t they stop it?”

Vincent blinked slowly, unbothered. “It wasn’t necessary. The damage is superficial. I’m still fully functional.”

Fully functional. Like he was nothing more than a machine, a piece of equipment in the lab. Rody felt a surge of anger, a frustration that had been building inside him for months now. How could Vincent be so cold? How could he stand there, mutilated, and not care?

“You… don’t feel anything about this?” Rody asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t care that they did this to you?”

Vincent tilted his head, as if Rody’s question was a strange puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Why would I care? I am no different from the others.”

Rody’s chest tightened. “No different—Vincent, you’re human!”

“No,” Vincent interrupted, his tone still unnervingly calm. “I am not. I never was.”

His words hung in the air like a death sentence. Rody stared at him, trying to process the weight of what he was saying, but it didn’t make sense. How could Vincent believe that? How could he see himself as anything less than human, after everything he had achieved?

“You’re wrong,” Rody said, his voice growing firmer, despite the horror he felt. “You are like the others. You’re—”

“A product,” Vincent finished for him. “Like them. My existence was engineered. My purpose predefined.”

Rody shook his head violently. “That doesn’t matter! You think because they created you here, that makes you less than human? That’s bullshit, Vincent. You feel things. You think. You’re not just some tool.”

Vincent’s eye darkened, his usual cold exterior cracking for just a moment, and Rody thought he saw a flicker of something—anger? Or was it pity?

“I feel nothing,” Vincent said, his voice low, almost dangerous. “Not for them. Not for myself.”

The words struck Rody like a blow, and he recoiled, the weight of Vincent’s indifference crushing him. He had always been uncomfortable with the way Vincent treated the subjects, but this—this was worse than he had imagined. Vincent truly believed he wasn’t human. He didn’t see himself, or the others, as anything more than objects to be used and discarded.

“Is that what you want?” Rody asked, his voice cracking. “To be used up until there’s nothing left?”

Vincent’s lips curled into something that resembled a smile, but there was no warmth in it. Only cold resignation. “That is my purpose, Rody.”

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he was lost in the depth of Vincent’s hollow eye, in the emptiness there. He had always known the facility was a hellish place, but this—this was a nightmare made flesh.

“No,” Rody whispered, shaking his head again. “I won’t let them do this to you.”

Vincent’s gaze sharpened. “It’s too late for that.”

But Rody wasn’t listening anymore. Something had shifted inside him, something that couldn’t be ignored. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened to Vincent—he was determined. Determined to find a way to stop this madness, to break the cycle of cruelty that had consumed this place.

Rody stood frozen, his mind reeling from Vincent’s words. He had always known the facility was a place where ethics came second to results, but seeing the reality of it in Vincent—someone who had been turned into an experimenter, and yet still a victim—made it all so much worse.

Vincent continued to gaze at Rody, his expression eerily calm, as if his missing eye, his mutilation, was merely an inconvenience, something that had no bearing on his value or existence. The casual way Vincent dismissed the agony of what had been done to him—what had likely been done to many others—twisted something deep in Rody’s gut.

Vincent turned back to the console, resuming his work as though their conversation hadn’t just unearthed something grotesque. His fingers moved gracefully over the keys, unfazed by the wound that would have left anyone else crippled with pain. It was almost like he was numb to it all, like it didn’t matter.

Rody couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Vincent,” he began, his voice tight with barely contained emotion, “you don’t have to keep doing this.”

Vincent didn’t even glance his way, his one good eye focused on the data flashing across the screen. “Keep doing what?”

“This. All of it. The experiments, the pain. You’re not just—” Rody clenched his fists. “You’re not just a tool, okay? None of them are.”

Vincent paused briefly, a single digit hovering over the keyboard before he resumed typing. “You’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not!” Rody snapped, the frustration finally boiling over. “They’re people, Vincent! You’re a person! How can you not see that? How can you stand here and act like none of this matters?”

Vincent stopped typing then, turning slowly to face Rody with that same blank, hollow expression. The empty eye socket seemed to darken under the artificial light, a grotesque reminder of the cruelty Vincent had so willingly endured.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vincent said quietly. “Because none of it matters. Not me. Not them. We are not human.”

Rody took a step closer, his chest tightening with every word. “That’s not true. You *are* human. You have thoughts, feelings—”

Vincent’s lips twitched slightly in what could have been a smirk, but it was devoid of humor. “Feelings? Do you think what I *feel* matters,Rody? Do you think what any of them feel matter? We were created to serve a purpose, nothing more. We’re disposable.”

Rody felt the words sink into him like lead, cold and heavy. He had never seen Vincent this open before, this blunt about what he thought of himself and the other test subjects. But it was worse than Rody had imagined.

Vincent didn’t just think of himself as an object—he believed it. Deep down, in every fiber of his being, Vincent had internalized the idea that his life was worthless. That the pain he endured meant nothing. And it broke something in Rody to hear it spoken aloud.

“What did they do to you?” Rody whispered, his voice trembling. “To make you believe this?”

Vincent shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. “It’s not about what they did. It’s about what we are.”

“And what is that?” Rody asked, stepping closer, his voice thick with desperation.

“We are experiments,” Vincent said calmly. “We were never born. We don’t have families. We don’t have lives outside these walls. There’s no world waiting for us out there. The others might cling to the idea that they deserve something more, but they don’t. We don’t.”

“You’re wrong.” Rody shook his head, a sharp motion filled with denial. “You’re wrong, Vincent. Just because you were created here doesn’t mean you’re not alive. That you don’t matter. What they’ve done to you, to all of you—it’s not right.”

Vincent’s gaze softened, but not with any kind of understanding. Instead, it was with something colder, more distant—like he pitied Rody for not seeing things the way he did. “I don’t need your sympathy, Rody.”

“It’s not sympathy,” Rody insisted. “It’s… it’s anger! You’re letting them destroy you, and you don’t even care!”

Vincent regarded him for a long moment before he spoke, his tone unchanging, clinical. “What difference would it make if I cared? This is the reality of what we are. Whether or not I care about my own suffering changes nothing.”

Rody was struck silent for a moment, staring at Vincent, trying to comprehend how someone so brilliant could believe something so twisted. But this was the product of the facility, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just the test subjects who were being broken here—Vincent had been shattered, too, in a way far more insidious than any physical damage could inflict.

“Do you care about anyone?” Rody asked softly, almost afraid to know the answer.

Vincent blinked, the question seemingly catching him off guard. “Why does that matter?”

“Because…” Rody swallowed hard. “Because it does.”

Vincent didn’t respond for a long time, his remaining eye locked onto Rody with a gaze that was both intense and hollow. “It’s not my job to care. It’s my job to make sure the experiments succeed.”

“So that’s all you are to them?” Rody challenged, his voice rising again. “Just a tool? Just another experiment that can be discarded when you’re no longer useful?”

Vincent’s lips parted slightly, but no answer came. For the first time, Rody thought he saw something flicker behind that cold exterior, something uncertain.

Rody pressed forward, his heart racing. “They’re using you, Vincent. They’ve been using you since the day you were born in this place. And you’re letting them.”

Vincent finally looked away, turning his gaze back to the console, but Rody could see the tension in his shoulders. He could see the small crack in Vincent’s armor, and he wasn’t about to let it close.

“You’re worth more than this,” Rody said, softer now, almost pleading. “You don’t have to be what they made you into.”

“They made me,” Vincent said, his voice low, almost inaudible. “I am theirs.”

Rody stepped even closer, closing the distance between them until he was standing right next to Vincent, his heart pounding in his chest. “No. You’re yours.”

For a moment, the two stood in silence, the hum of the machinery the only sound in the cold, sterile room. Rody didn’t know if his words had gotten through. He didn’t know if Vincent could even be reached. But he had to try. He couldn’t just let Vincent go on believing he was nothing.

Then, Vincent spoke, his voice soft, almost broken. “It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not,” Rody insisted, his hand gripping Vincent’s shoulder. He needed Vincent to understand, needed him to see that he mattered. That he wasn’t just some piece of equipment. “It’s not too late.”

Vincent’s eye closed, a deep, weary sigh escaping his lips. “They’ll never stop, Rody. And neither will I.”

And with that, Vincent gently removed Rody’s hand from his shoulder and turned away, back to his console, the conversation closed as far as he was concerned.

Rody stood there, his chest tight, his mind spinning. He couldn’t accept this. He *wouldn’t* accept it.

But for now, Vincent was too far gone to see that there was another way.

Rody stood frozen in place, watching Vincent’s back as he resumed typing at the console. The cold, mechanical sound of the keys clicking beneath Vincent’s fingers filled the room like a quiet mockery of everything they had just discussed. There was no sign of emotion in Vincent, no hint of the turmoil Rody had felt surging through him during their exchange. Vincent had dismissed it, all of it, as if nothing had been said.

Rody clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles white as he wrestled with his frustration, with his anger. He couldn’t shake the image of Vincent’s empty eye socket, the careless way Vincent had mentioned it—like the loss of his own eye didn’t matter. Like *he* didn’t matter.

But he *did* matter. Rody knew it, even if Vincent couldn’t see it himself.

He glanced around the sterile, clinical lab, the rows of machines, the quiet hum of the equipment—the tools of their experiments. The walls were smooth, white, and pristine, but the place felt filthy. It was soaked in cruelty, drenched in the twisted logic that had infected Vincent and everyone else who worked there.

No one in this facility seemed to care about what they were doing. Not really. They all saw the subjects as nothing more than things—creations with no value beyond their utility in the lab. But Rody had been different from the beginning. He had felt that unease gnawing at him ever since he had started working here. And now, seeing Vincent like this, seeing what the facility had done to him—it was more than Rody could stand.

He wasn’t going to let this happen anymore.

Rody took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He couldn’t fix things right now—not here, not in front of Vincent. But he had to do *something*. He couldn’t stand by while Vincent continued to let himself be destroyed by this place, by these people who saw him as nothing more than a product of their experiments.

Before he left, Rody’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “I’ll be back.”

Vincent didn’t turn around. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with me, Rody. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Rody’s eyes burned with the weight of his frustration and sorrow, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and walked out of the lab, the door hissing shut behind him. The sterile hallway outside felt like it was closing in on him, the cold fluorescent lights overhead casting long, lonely shadows.

His footsteps echoed down the hall as he made his way to his station. His mind raced, thinking of ways to break through to Vincent. He had to find a way to show him that he wasn’t just an experiment, that he wasn’t a tool for the facility to use and discard.

But even as Rody tried to formulate a plan, a dark thought nagged at him—what if Vincent didn’t *want* to be saved? What if he had given himself over completely to the cold, clinical reality of his existence here?

Rody entered his small, cluttered office, shutting the door behind him. He leaned heavily against the desk, his hands gripping the edges as he tried to steady himself. His mind replayed Vincent’s words, the hollow way he had said, “We are not human.”

Rody had seen the other test subjects, those who didn’t have Vincent’s brilliance, those who hadn’t been elevated to the role of researcher like he had. They were shells, barely alive, their bodies ravaged by the experiments that were conducted on them day after day. And yet, in all of them, Rody had seen glimmers of humanity—small, fragile signs of life that had survived despite everything they had endured.

Vincent might not see it, but Rody did. Vincent was more than just a product of the facility. He had a mind, he had thoughts, and whether he believed it or not, he had feelings. He wasn’t just a machine for the facility to use and throw away. He *was* human, even if they had tried to strip that from him.

But how could Rody convince him of that? How could he show Vincent that there was something worth fighting for, something worth living for beyond these walls?

Rody sank into his chair, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to think. He had to find a way to reach Vincent, to break through that wall of indifference and resignation. But Vincent was so deeply conditioned, so deeply ingrained with the belief that he and the others were nothing more than experiments—that they had no value beyond their usefulness to the facility.

An idea sparked in Rody’s mind, one that he had been too afraid to consider until now.

He would have to show Vincent, not tell him. He would have to get him out of the facility.

It would be risky—dangerous, even. If anyone found out what Rody was planning, it wouldn’t just be his career that was on the line. The facility didn’t tolerate dissent, and Rody had seen firsthand what happened to those who tried to oppose their methods.

But Rody didn’t care. Not anymore. Not if it meant saving Vincent from this place.

He leaned forward, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a small, encrypted tablet. He needed to gather information—find a way to bypass the security systems, get Vincent out of the building without raising suspicion. It wouldn’t be easy, but Rody knew the facility’s routines, its blind spots. If anyone could pull this off, it was him.

As Rody began planning his next move, his thoughts kept drifting back to Vincent. The image of him standing in that lab, his eye socket empty, his voice so calm and detached as he talked about his own mutilation—it was burned into Rody’s mind.

He wouldn’t let this be the end for Vincent. He couldn’t.

Rody didn’t know what would come next. He didn’t know if he could truly change Vincent’s mind, or if they would even survive what he was planning. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t leave Vincent behind. Not like this.

Not in this place that had already stolen so much from him.

The facility hummed quietly, its cold, clinical atmosphere a stark contrast to the storm raging inside Rody. As the hours ticked by, he moved with precision, preparing for what could easily be his last day here. He gathered the necessary access codes, memorized shift schedules, and mapped out a route that would take him and Vincent through the least patrolled corridors. The entire time, his mind remained fixated on Vincent’s hollow words—”We are not human.”

Rody’s chest tightened each time he thought about it. He couldn’t ignore the memory of Vincent’s empty eye socket or the detachment in his voice, like he was narrating the weather and not his own mutilation. Vincent had completely surrendered to the idea that he was nothing, that none of them were. It made Rody’s blood boil in a way he hadn’t felt before. But how could he save someone who didn’t think they needed saving?

Hours later, after a long day of making small, subtle preparations, Rody walked back to the lab. His pulse quickened with each step, adrenaline lacing his movements as he neared Vincent’s workspace. The sterile halls seemed darker, more oppressive, and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed in a way that felt unsettling—like they were watching him.

When he entered the lab, Vincent was standing at his station, his head bent over the screen in front of him. The glow from the monitor bathed him in a pale light, casting shadows that made his gaunt features look even sharper. His right eye, the one that remained, gleamed in the artificial light, while the hollow socket sat hidden beneath his dark fringe.

“Vincent,” Rody said, his voice low but firm.

Vincent didn’t turn around. “What is it, Rody?” His tone was flat, devoid of interest, like he hadn’t even registered that someone had entered the room.

Rody stepped closer, swallowing his nerves. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Vincent stopped typing. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned just enough to glance at Rody over his shoulder, a thin line of curiosity creasing his brow. “Out?”

“Yes,” Rody said, more firmly now. “Out of this place. Out of this facility.”

Vincent’s expression remained unreadable, his eye studying Rody as if trying to understand his sudden declaration. After a few seconds of silence, he turned back to his work, his fingers resuming their rhythmic tap against the keys.

“That’s impossible,” Vincent said. “Even if you managed to bypass the security systems, there’s no point. Where would I go?”

“We can figure that out,” Rody insisted, stepping closer. “You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to keep letting them—letting *us*—do this to you.”

Vincent finally stopped typing again. He straightened, turning fully to face Rody, his face still as neutral and calm as ever. “And why would I leave? This is where I belong. This is what I was created for.”

Rody’s frustration surged again. “No, Vincent! You’re not just some—some *thing* for them to use and discard when they’re done! You’re a person. You deserve more than this.”

Vincent’s lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile, though it was far from comforting. “A person? Rody, I am nothing but a product of their experiments, as are all the others. We were made here. We exist for the sole purpose of advancing science. We don’t need more than this.”

Rody shook his head, stepping even closer until they were nearly face-to-face. “You might believe that, but it’s not true. You’re not just a tool, Vincent. You’ve got a mind, a life of your own—whether you see it or not. And I refuse to let them destroy you like they’ve done to so many others.”

Vincent’s smile faded, his face once again becoming that cold, indifferent mask. “You’re being emotional, Rody. It clouds your judgment.”

Rody grabbed Vincent by the arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Maybe I am. But that’s because I care, Vincent. Don’t you see that? They don’t care what happens to you, or to anyone else here. But I do.”

For the first time, something flickered in Vincent’s remaining eye—an emotion Rody couldn’t quite place. It was fleeting, there one moment and gone the next, but it was enough to give him hope that somewhere, beneath the layers of conditioning, Vincent still had a spark of humanity left.

“I don’t need you to care,” Vincent said softly, but his voice lacked the cold certainty it usually held.

Rody’s grip tightened slightly. “Maybe not. But I care anyway. I care enough to get you out of here, whether you think it’s worth it or not.”

The two of them stood there in silence for a long moment, Rody’s heart racing as he waited for Vincent to respond. He could see the wheels turning behind Vincent’s eye, the slow, methodical way he processed the situation. For once, Rody couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

After what felt like an eternity, Vincent finally spoke. “And if I leave—what then?”

Rody exhaled, relieved that Vincent wasn’t outright refusing. “Then we find somewhere safe. We can figure things out together.”

Vincent’s gaze remained fixed on Rody, his expression unchanging. “You’re willing to risk your life for this?”

“Yes,” Rody answered without hesitation. “You’re worth that risk.”

Vincent tilted his head slightly, studying Rody with that same analytical stare. “You really are a fool, Rody.”

Rody managed a tight smile. “Maybe. But if being a fool is what it takes to save you, then so be it.”

Another long pause, and then, to Rody’s surprise, Vincent nodded ever so slightly. “Very well. Let’s see how far your foolishness can take us.”

The tension in Rody’s chest loosened, just a bit, but the weight of what they were about to attempt still hung heavily between them. It wasn’t a victory, not yet. But it was a start.

As Vincent turned back to gather a few things from the lab, Rody watched him carefully. The haunted look in his eye remained, but Rody knew now that there was still a chance—however slim—that he could pull Vincent out of the darkness that had consumed him.

This was only the beginning, and the road ahead would be dangerous. But for the first time since he had started working at the facility, Rody felt like he was doing something that mattered.

And he wasn’t going to stop, no matter the cost.

The moments that followed were laced with tension, a quiet kind of dread that hung over the sterile room like a dense fog. Vincent moved through the lab with eerie precision, calmly collecting data pads and other tools, as if Rody’s plan to break them out of the facility was just another experiment to observe. His remaining eye betrayed no fear, no excitement—only that same cold detachment, as though he didn’t care one way or another whether they succeeded or failed.

Rody, on the other hand, felt the weight of every step they were about to take. His pulse raced as he watched Vincent’s indifferent movements, still haunted by the emptiness where his other eye should have been. It felt wrong, all of it—Vincent’s acceptance of his own suffering, the way the facility viewed these people like they were nothing more than objects, and worst of all, Vincent’s refusal to see himself as human.

But Rody had to push past those thoughts now. The plan was in motion, and there was no turning back.

“We’ll head through the maintenance wing,” Rody said quietly, keeping his voice low in case the surveillance systems were listening. “The cameras aren’t as heavily monitored there, and the guards tend to patrol in intervals. If we time it right, we can slip past.”

Vincent barely acknowledged his words, simply nodding as he gathered the last of his tools and tucked them into a small, worn leather bag. “Lead the way.”

The lack of emotion in Vincent’s voice made Rody’s heart ache. He wanted to shake him, to make him understand that this was real, that they were fighting for his life—not just because Rody couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, but because Vincent *deserved* to live, even if he didn’t believe it.

But there was no time for that now. They needed to move.

Rody led Vincent out of the lab, the halls quieter than usual at this hour. Most of the other researchers and personnel had gone home for the night, leaving only the night shift and a few key staff to monitor the facility’s various systems. It worked in their favor—fewer eyes meant fewer chances to be caught.

They moved swiftly, Rody guiding Vincent through a series of back corridors and maintenance tunnels, his nerves on edge with every step. The facility, usually so cold and impersonal, now felt oppressive, its white walls closing in on them with each turn.

Every now and then, Rody would glance over at Vincent, who walked beside him with the same calm, unhurried pace. There was no tension in his body, no sign that he felt any of the fear or adrenaline that coursed through Rody’s veins. It was as if Vincent had already resigned himself to whatever outcome awaited them, whether it be freedom or capture.

That thought gnawed at Rody. He didn’t know what would happen if they were caught, but he could guess. The facility would likely erase any record of their escape attempt—along with them. Rody knew the lengths they went to in order to maintain their secrets, and two rogue researchers, one of whom was technically a test subject, wouldn’t be allowed to live to tell the tale.

But Rody couldn’t afford to think about that now. He had to focus.

“Here,” he whispered, stopping just before they reached the maintenance wing. The hallway ahead was dimly lit, a few flickering lights casting long shadows against the walls. “This is it. If we can get past this section without being seen, we’ll be able to access the emergency exit.”

Vincent nodded but said nothing, his eye scanning the area with that same analytical gaze. He seemed completely unfazed by the risk, as though the concept of fear was foreign to him. Rody envied him for that, even as it filled him with frustration. How could Vincent be so calm, knowing what was at stake?

They waited, watching the hallway for any sign of movement. Rody counted the seconds in his head, matching the rhythm of his breath to the beats of his heart. When he was certain the coast was clear, he motioned for Vincent to follow.

They slipped down the corridor, their footsteps soft against the polished floor. Rody’s heart pounded in his ears, his senses heightened as they approached the door to the emergency exit. This was it. They were almost out.

But just as they reached the door, a voice crackled through the overhead speakers.

“Dr. Lamoree, Dr. Charbonneau. Report to Lab 6 immediately.”

Rody froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a knowing tone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Vincent, however, didn’t react. He stood perfectly still, his face blank as he stared at the door in front of them. “They know,” he said quietly.

“No,” Rody hissed, panic creeping into his voice. “We’re so close. We can still make it—”

“We won’t,” Vincent interrupted, his voice devoid of emotion. “They’ve already activated the lockdown protocols. The exits will be sealed.”

Rody’s heart sank. He hadn’t even noticed the faint hum of the facility’s security system activating, the dull click of doors locking into place. It was over. They were trapped.

For a moment, the crushing weight of failure threatened to consume him. All their planning, all their hope—it had been for nothing. And now they were going to pay the price.

But then Vincent spoke again, his tone oddly calm. “Rody, you should go.”

“What?” Rody blinked, confused. “What do you mean, ‘go’?”

Vincent turned to face him, his eye locking onto Rody’s with an intensity that made his skin crawl. “You can still save yourself. They’ll take me back to the lab, but you—there’s still time for you to disappear.”

Rody stared at him, disbelief and anger warring inside him. “You think I’d just leave you here? After everything?”

Vincent’s lips curled into that familiar, hollow smile. “There’s no point in both of us being caught. They’ll deal with me the way they deal with all failed experiments. But you—you’re still useful to them.”

Rody shook his head, stepping closer until he was inches from Vincent. “I’m not leaving you behind. I don’t care what you think you are—you’re worth more than that. We can still—”

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway, cutting Rody off. His pulse quickened as he realized they had run out of time.

Vincent placed a hand on Rody’s arm, his touch cold but firm. “Go.”

“No,” Rody insisted, his voice shaking. “Not without you.”

For the first time, something like emotion flickered in Vincent’s eye—regret, maybe, or something close to it. “You really are a fool, Rody.”

The footsteps grew louder, closer. Rody knew they were seconds away from being discovered, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His body felt rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to flee and the need to stay with Vincent.

And then, before he could react, Vincent leaned in close, his lips brushing against Rody’s ear as he whispered, “Goodbye.”

With one swift motion, Vincent shoved Rody through the door, slamming it shut behind him just as the security alarms blared to life. Rody stumbled forward, his heart hammering in his chest as the reality of what had just happened hit him.

Vincent had sacrificed himself—so Rody could live.

The last thing Rody heard before the door sealed completely was the sound of the guards arriving, their voices sharp and commanding as they apprehended Vincent. And then, silence.

Rody stood there, gasping for breath, his mind reeling. He wanted to go back, to fight, to save Vincent, but he knew it was too late.

Vincent was gone.

And Rody had to live with that.