The Laboratory

The sun rises at last, pale light spilling through the broken windows of Ossamaris. The barracks stir sluggishly, people dragging themselves into the rhythm of another day. 
          In the large bathroom, Dosei runs a comb through his hair, squinting into the cracked mirror. Beside him, Benji unwinds the bandage from his head, inspecting the wound. The skin is healing well, leaving only a red mark. 
          “I wonder what we’re fixing in Ossamaris today?” Dosei asks absently. 
          “Bet it’s still the walls,” Benji mutters, tugging his cowboy hat back into place. The brim settles low, and for the first time since the battle, he almost looks like himself again. 
          The door creaks and Halo steps in, a folded change of clothes tucked under her arm. 
          The room stills. 
          Both men freeze, eyes locking on her reflection in the mirror. 
          Halo hesitates, the weight of their stares pressing down. “Good morning,” she says at last, her voice careful, steady. 
          “Oh, hey. Yeah, good mornin’,” Benji blurts, stumbling over the words. 
          Halo steps closer to the row of sinks, gaze fixed on her reflection. Her metal arms catch the light, sharp against the softness of her face. She clutches the fabric of her sleeves pulls them down slightly, as if the gesture could hide what’s already revealed. 
          They’re all looking at me like I’m a monster. 
          The thought coils inside her, heavier than the silence that lingers in the room. 
          Halo keeps to the herb shack, cloth in hand, restlessly scrubbing counters that are already clean. Facing her teammates feels unbearable, so she busies herself with anything that keeps her away from their eyes. 
          The door creaks. Rubble steps inside. “What are you doing?” 
          “I just thought I should clean the shop a little,” she says quickly. 
          He narrows his eyes. “Are you avoiding your teammates?” 
          Halo freezes, caught. “…Maybe a little.” She presses harder on the cloth, wiping the counter for the hundredth time. 
          Rubble doesn’t push. Instead, his voice softens with curiosity. “Have you tried using your ability yet?” 
          “What?” she asks, blinking at him. 
          “You’re a Nova-class model, like me.” He snaps his fingers. A spark jumps between them, bright and sharp in the dim room. 
          Halo stares at her hands. “I don’t know how to do that.” 
          Rubble picks up a glass jar and sets it in front of her. “Think about moving all the energy in your body into your hands.” 
          She hovers her palm above it, but nothing happens. 
          Rubble steps in close behind her. She feels his presence warm the back of her neck. He extends his arm over hers, his hand covering hers gently. 
          “You know that feeling when you want to protect someone you love?” he murmurs. “That rush of adrenaline when danger comes? It’s like that. Hold onto it.” 
          Halo’s heart races with him so close. She swallows, focusing on the jar. Rubble spreads her fingers apart, steady and deliberate. 
          A sudden flash of orange flares beneath her hand. Energy snaps outward, striking the jar. It shatters in an instant. 
          Halo gasps and jerks back, colliding with Rubble’s chest, but his arms steady her before she can fall. She stares down at her unharmed hand, sparks fading from her fingertips, then looks up at him. 
          “Not bad,” he says with a small smile. 
          Halo exhales shakily. 
          “Now,” Rubble adds, his eyes glinting, “you’re ready for today’s mission.” 
          “What mission?” 
          Thorn hunches over his hand-drawn map, lantern light flickering across the ink. “We’re going back to the city to steal the Ion Pulse Cannon.” His finger taps the mark where Helrix’s base is circled. “We’ll need a vehicle too, to haul it back.” 
          He lifts his gaze to Halo and Rubble. “I’m only sharing the details with you. If this plan leaks, I’ll know exactly where it came from.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for argument. 
           “Understood,” Rubble replies. Halo gives a short nod beside him. 
           Thorn folds the map, rises, and leads them back into the barracks, only to find Benji dragging an upside-down Dosei across the floor like a mop. Thorn sighs heavily. 
          Benji freezes. “We’re… multitasking.” He drops Dosei, who groans at the rough landing. 
          “Suit up,” Thorn orders. “We head out in an hour.” 
          “What are we doing?” Cinder asks, leaning against the wall, arms folded. 
          “You’ll learn more later,” Thorn says curtly. “For now, just get ready.” 
          Benji frowns. “Shouldn’t we at least know where we’re going?” 
          Thorn stares at him in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he turns on his heel and leaves without another word. 
          The team exchanges uneasy glances, confusion thick in the air. 
          The team scatters through the broken streets, checking half-collapsed garages and burned-out storage sheds for anything with wheels left intact. Most of them know it’s pointless, if there are working vehicles, Helrix has them. But Thorn insists nothing be overlooked. 
          Rubble and Halo drift toward the old laboratory, the jagged glass windows glinting like broken teeth. Halo slows as they near the doors, her eyes lingering on the building. 
          “You want to go back in?” Rubble asks. 
          She nods faintly. “I just want to look again.” 
          The moment they step onto the cracked tile floor, a familiar shape emerges from the alley. Moss lumbers after them, his bones faintly rattling inside the green slime. 
          “You can’t be here,” Halo says, worried, spinning to face him. “It’s not safe!” 
          Moss only tilts his head, unbothered, and squeezes in through the laboratory doors. The ceiling fan dangles low in the entryway. He bumps his head against it with a loud whack. Offended, he slaps it, only for the fan to swing back and smack him again. Moss growls, shoulders sagging, then slinks away sheepishly toward the far wall. 
         Halo lets out a quiet breath and steps deeper into the lab. The sterile smell still lingers beneath the mildew and dust. Memories bite at her, the terror of waking in a pod here, the world outside ruined. 
         Her boot crunches down on something. She bends and picks it up. A badge, its laminate cracked, the name and photo of a scientist faded but legible. 
          Halo’s breath stills. She remembers. The locked door down the hall. The terminal that wouldn’t open without clearance. 
          Clutching the badge, she walks with purpose through the dim corridor, past shattered glass and overturned desks. At the end, the door looms. She swipes the badge across the reader. 
          With a hiss, the panel lights green. 
          The door slides open. 
          The office feels eerily untouched, as though the disaster never reached it. Papers sit in neat stacks on the desk, pens lined in precise rows. Dust veils everything, but nothing here has been overturned. 
          Halo crosses the room and pulls a folder from the pile. The bold letters on the front read: Group 56. 
          “That’s our group number,” she says. 
          Rubble leans in at her shoulder as she opens it. The pages are full of faces, profiles, names, data. The people from the waiting room. 
          Halo’s hand stills as she flips to her own photo. Her name is typed in block letters above the image. Beneath it: Nova-class. 
          She turns the page. Another photo. A man with light blue hair and a calm smile. 
          “Ryousei,” she hands the paper to Rubble. “That’s you.” 
          He studies it silently, brows furrowed, as if trying to pull the recognition from somewhere deep inside. 
          Halo looks back down. The next page makes her gasp. Her fingers tremble. She drops the entire folder, and the papers scatter in a storm across the floor. 
          “What’s wrong?” Rubble asks quickly. 
          She stares at the photo, her voice breaking. “Kotarou…” 
          Rubble kneels, snatching up the page. He reads the words aloud: Kotarou, Experimental Exoskeleton-class. Green model. His eyes lift sharply. “Is this… Moss? Who is Kotarou?” 
          Halo’s eyes brim red, tears spilling. “My brother.” 
          Her body moves before her thoughts catch up. She bolts from the office, down the corridor, back into the ruined waiting room. 
          Moss is there, lifting a broken chair up in to the air, chewing on the wood like a child gnawing a toy. 
          “Kotarou!” Halo calls. 
          He doesn’t respond. 
          “…Moss.” 
          The green Skelloid freezes, then lowers the chair. His blank gaze settles on her. 
          Halo’s voice quivers. “Do you remember me? Is that why you try to keep me safe?” 
          Moss tilts his head, slime rippling faintly. 
          Halo steps forward. She wraps her arms around him as best she can, though she’s only half his size. For a moment he just stands there, still as stone. 
          Then, slowly, his massive hand rises. He lowers it carefully, resting it on the crown of her head in an awkward, gentle pat. 
          Halo’s tears break into a smile. 
          A dull thump echoes from a hallway off to the side. 
          Rubble’s head snaps toward it. “What’s down there?” 
          Halo shakes her head, uneasy. “I don’t know. I’ve never been on that side of the lab.” 
         Rubble takes a step toward the corridor. The sound comes again, another thump, heavier this time. 
          Dim emergency lights flicker to life, stuttering in and out. At the far end, a set of large metal double doors rattles violently as something slams against them. 
          “What is it?” Halo calls, her voice tight. 
          The banging grows frantic. 
          Rubble raises his voice. “Is someone there? Do you need help?” 
          No answer.
          Only claws screeching across steel, sharp enough to set his teeth on edge, followed by a low, guttural growl. 
          Rubble staggers back, eyes catching on the faded words stenciled above the doors: Level Restricted. Test Subjects. 
          His stomach drops. “Nope.” He spins on his heel, walking fast, the pace quickening to a near sprint. 
          Halo startles as he grabs her arm. “We’re getting out of here,” he says, voice clipped, dragging her down the corridor. Moss lumbers after them. 
          The banging resumes, louder now, no longer a cry for help but raw, animal rage. 
          Halo looks back, her voice trembling. “What’s in there?” 
          “I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out,” Rubble snaps. His eyes dart around the ruined yard outside the lab, scanning the rusted hulks of cars crushed flat by time and decay. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here. We should regroup with the others.” 
          “Okay,” Halo says, breathless. She turns to Moss. “Hey, we have to go. You can’t follow us this time. It’s not safe. Go back to Ossamaris. We’ll be back soon.” 
          Moss lets out a low, mournful moan. Then, with surprising care, he picks up a mud-caked tire and holds it out to her. 
          Halo blinks, then takes it. “Oh. Thank you.” 
          Moss rumbles softly and wanders back toward Ossamaris. 
          Halo glances at the tire in her hands, grimacing. “Should I… keep it?” 
         Rubble snorts, shaking his head. “No. Put it down.”