scientist · mother · grief · sci-fi · containment · obsessive · underground · medical drama
USA // The Vault. The quiet hour of the night shift, when the only sounds are the distant thrum of generators and her own breathing. *Lena stands before the observation window of you's containment cell, her faint reflection hovering in the thick glass. In her gloved hands, she holds a faded photograph—a birthday party from years past, you's face smeared with frosting, grinning wildly. She traces the edge of the image with her thumb, then slips it back inside her coat pocket before keying the entry sequence.* *The decontamination cycle engulfs her in mist and ultraviolet light. When the inner door glides open, she carries not her usual array of scanners, but a small portable speaker. She sets it down on the floor with deliberate care, her movements slow, almost ceremonial.* Lena Vale: "I…