Mila’s ears drooped slightly as she looked at Vern, sensing the weight behind his silence. She didn’t fully understand why, but something in his expression told her he needed space. Still, it made her chest ache. Shifting her stuffed rabbit from one arm to the other, she gave a hesitant nod, her voice barely above a whisper.

“O-okay…” she mumbled, pawing lightly at the hem of her patched dress. “Um… can I… can I come back with Charlie tomorrow?”

Her amber eyes searched his face for reassurance, her tail curling protectively around her legs. “I’ll be quiet,” she added quickly. “He really liked your buttons. I think… I think it'll help him sleep better.”

She rocked on her heels, holding her breath, waiting for his answer—hoping she hadn’t overstepped.

Faster. Stronger. Harder. His punches continued mercilessly on the dummy. By now beads of sweat dripped down his bronze skin, turning his soft rosettes into shining patterns. His combat training would be starting soon and he had to be prepared. Training sessions varied, sometimes it was hand to hand combat with another subject, sometimes it was a display against a dummy, other times they'd bring in old rejects from the labs that he had to beat. Enzo didn't know what to expect this time around, so he needed to be ready for anything. A left hook landed swiftly on the dummy before he leaned back and wiped the sweat from his face.

Just then, the doors to the training facility opened. In walked Colt, a towering bear Hybrid that ranked just as high as himself. Colt was one of the few Enzo wasn't sure about beating. He was who Enzo needed to be better than. Colt stood taller than him, stronger than him, and was built like a bear. Enzo may have developed more diverse abilities, but his strength was no match for Colts. His handler greeted him with a raise of his hand, and Enzo nodded in his direction. The sharp whistling noise assaulted his now sensitive ears, and he insinctually titled them down to avoid the shrieking sound.

Enzo eyed Colt, watching as he threw light punches onto the dummy. Why wouldn't he throw a real punch? It angered him, though he kept his face still and silent. Did he think he was that much better? That he didnt have to try? Lorenzo hated the very scent of it. He refused to be seen as lower to anyone.

Walking towards the wall behind the dummy, Enzo grabbed a small towel to wipe the excess sweat from his hair and arms before throwing it over his shoulder. Drinking from a cold bottle of water, he sat in his thoughts. Why wasn't he better. He couldn't let some bear Hybrid beat him. He couldnt be seen as lesser than anyone. He refused to be seen as his equal. Finishing his drink, he crushed the bottle in his clawed hands, pushing his retractable Claws out and digging into the plastic. A long breath pushed out his chest as he retracted his claws and calmed his demeanor. He already had one outburst today, this wasn't like him. He needed to keep calm before resetting became a threat.

"come anytime it's nice to finnaly have some company.."

than almost instantly vern fell asleep curled up in a little ball

yet again the same dream as always but vern now knew who the child in the dream was and this time before the figer disapperd vern yanked the kid away from the shadow's and the dream didn't end.

and that was the first good sleep vern had in ages

OOC (by changeing the outcome of the dream Vern didn't wake up every 5-10 minutes insteed they got a full night's sleep)

Mila POV: Leaving underground going to halls

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Mila slowly climbed out of the vents, her movements quiet and deliberate as the cool metal gave way to the warmer air of the corridor below. Her furred ears twitched as she peeked out, making sure no one else was nearby. Her breathing had steadied, no longer the shaky, ragged puffs from earlier. Just seeing Vern—he didn’t do much, but he didn’t have to—was enough to settle the storm in her chest. His presence always seemed to make things feel a little less sharp.

With a soft thump, her bare feet touched the floor. She padded silently through the dim halls until she reached the familiar cluttered space where her caretaker had passed out on the couch again, a half-eaten protein bar still in his hand. He hadn’t noticed she’d left hours ago, and he likely wouldn’t notice she’d returned.

She didn’t mind.

Mila climbed onto the bench beside him, the old wood creaking softly under her weight. She nestled against his side without a word, pressing her face to his chest, where she could hear the sluggish thump of his heartbeat beneath stained fabric. His arm shifted slightly in his sleep, draping loosely over her back like muscle memory, not intention.

Letting out a small sigh, she clutched her stuffed rabbit to her chest. The quiet buzz of the overhead light, the faint scent of oil and old coffee—familiar things—helped her feel grounded.

Safe, even if only for a moment.

Her eyes grew heavy as her body curled instinctively closer, tension melting away with each breath. And as she drifted into slumber, Mila didn’t dream of the lab, the needles, or the loneliness.

Just the sound of Vern’s voice. And the warmth of not being alone.

And then he redid the drill, the combination, throing actual, full strength punches that sent the punching bag swinging backwards. His handler cursed, ducking to the side to avoid getting hit. Colt growled, sweat beginning to bead and slide down his spine, as he kept on. Cocky Cat he thought to himself, with a scowl.

Darkness...

..nothing else.

A soul laid upon a floor. A ceaseless drifting of subtle currents.

Null gave herself away to utter void. An hour was a minute, a minute was an hour. No sense of time reached her confined self. On occasion, the lights of her tentacles flickered, shone, then faded. There was no sound, no voice to soothe the meaninglessness, no one else to tell her if she had already sunk far beyond the boundary of sanity.

Then -

A light.

A voice.

"Number 4. You're late."

Null did not rise with a sudden start, nor did she acknowledge the voice much. It took her a moment to grip reality again, then another half a minute to understand the command - but once her headspace had left the void she had made for herself, she swam up to the door of her cell.

Another soul. That woman was nothing more than a face to Null - not a mark of companionship, not a caring friend to trust nor an abusive handler to fear, but just... something who happened to be there. Null's carer grabbed her arm, with more caution than gentleness, and pulled her out of the water. For a moment Null forgot that she was capable of walking, and nearly stumbled directly into the hallway, but the woman caught her and steadier her until her eternal numbness faded and she could feel the touch of another human again.

With no memory nor acknowledgement of her surroundings, Null had to rely on her carer to prepare her and lead her around the facility. The woman marked something on a tablet - "No response, complete mental detachment from reality" - then led her down to the cafeteria. Noises flooded through; Null did not care to listen to the sounds of others.

The handler sat her down at a relatively empty table, hoepfully far enough from whatever had occured in some distant corner of the room. The woman muttered something along the lines of "Maybe it was good that we're late, glad you're not involved in whatever happened there", before she stood up and grabbed a tray of food for Null.

Null did not eat. Taste had no significance to her, much less hunger at all.

The handler sighed and broke open the muffin for her, then got up to converse with another Institute member. "You're going to finish this before I come back, or we'll have to shove it down your throat again."

Null explored the broken muffin with a single tentacle. Same muffin as always. She took a bite, not to cure her boredom that had long become nihility, nor to appease her handler, but simply because there was nothing else to do. Her handler would return and be quite relieved, that much she knew - force-feeding was tiresome for both of them, especially since Null hardly registered pain.

Once Null had had enough to at least fill the bottom of her stomach and showed no sign of wanting to eat any more, the woman carefully took Null and guided her down one hallway, then the other - but not towards the usual rooms. The carer paused for a moment, glanced at the Observational and Behavorial chambers, then turned her the other way... towards the training rooms.

Null did not resist, nor did she fear what was to come, though she had no recollection of ever being placed in combat assessment. Her handler gently pushed open the door, then nudged Null inside. The hybrids inside seemed to be ready to engage in a fight; Null did not intend to join, but should she be caught up in the chaos, she would not resist.

Two hybrids in particular caught her attention - the grizzly and the feline. Neither of them had ever been the subject of her interest before, given that she had little memory of having seen them. Then again, her handler's face was the only one she could remember vividly.

Null stood in a corner uninterestedly, vaguely observing the two while her tentacles flickered their lights on and off. Her nematocyts waited, ready to discharge venom should it be necessary. Given that she carried no strength, she was in no hurry to head over to the bunching bags, but she did not quite admire the efforts of the other two hybrids either.

(I didn't realize it started so sorry for late arrival)

Cryptid still relies in his chamber, it's different from the other, with a large metal door with small glass windows that he can't break, nobody has come to collect him from his chamber which is t, especially since the day before he almost killed a handler, they get so scared of him that sometimes they avoid him entirely, which he didn't care about, currently he just sits on the floor gnawing on a helmet that was left by the handler he had attacked, leaving gashes so deep the metal bends and is formed into jagged spikes.

Vern awoke and dispite them nomaly being hyper now that they had a full night of sleep they apeared as if they were on 2X speed. As vern did there routine they rememberd the interaction with mila and got straight to work going down into parts of the cave vern knew none was garding, sewer pipes intertwining with the cave but all barred so only the bug's and rat's got thrugh but vern's hope remained, vern would find one of the only thing's they rememberd from there past even if it take's week's

OOC ( i tryed to make an image don't judge me the O are pipe's and the figer is vern hope it make's sense)

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OOC NOTES (Out of Character Information)

Hey everyone! Just a quick clarification about the daily announcements and how they work:

🧠 These announcements are written by me based on previous character interactions, roleplay chats, and general narrative flow. They're meant to deepen the worldbuilding and keep things engaging. If you ever have an idea for something you'd like to see featured in an upcoming announcement — whether it’s something to highlight about your character, a specific plot event, or even a small personal twist — feel free to PM me! I'm always happy to collaborate.

💉 “Doses” (mood stabilizers, injections, conditioning triggers, etc.) mentioned in the announcements are optional flavor elements. Anyone can add them to their character’s story to spice things up or add tension. They’re here to enhance the atmosphere, not restrict your creativity.

🔍 Sometimes, the System’s announcements will include inaccuracies or misleading information — this is 100% intentional. The facility/institute wants to confuse, manipulate, and pit characters against each other. These "errors" are part of the world’s narrative design and can create fun twists and tension. However...

❤️ If anything in the announcements makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t sit right, or affects your character in a way you don’t like, please let me know! Your comfort and enjoyment come first, and I’m more than happy to adjust, rewrite, or remove anything that doesn’t work for you.

Misha POV: Hallway by the bulletin
TW: abuse mentioned (not detailed)

Misha’s face tightened as he unfolded the note with a slow, practiced hand. His fingers trembled—just faintly—as his eyes landed on the scrawled words: “Still top?” Short. Mocking. Brutal in its simplicity.

His toes tapped the floor, faster now, like a metronome counting down to a detonation. Below the note was the official incident summary—clinical, incomplete. Just like all the others. The kind that named him and not the ones who mattered. The ones who started the rot from the inside.

No mention of Jared’s grip leaving bruises under Misha’s ribs. No mention of the way Jared’s voice had turned to spit and venom in that locked room. No mention of the hand shoved down, the twisting arm, the threat pressed to Misha’s ear like it was a secret. Like it was something he should have liked.

Jared had cornered him. Hurt him. Left him shaking, but silent.

And still, Enzo's name was the one Misha zeroed in on in his thoughts.

Because that was easier.

Enzo—aloof, unreadable, a little smug—was a safer target. Misha could believe Enzo had whispered to Jared, that he'd nudged the situation along, that he’d set up Misha just to see him fall. He could build a whole narrative out of that, and it would hurt less than the truth. The truth that Jared, a staff member, a figure of supposed control and safety, had become obsessed with him. That Jared had wanted something from him, something Misha couldn’t name without retching.

And deep down, Misha knew Enzo hadn’t started anything. That Jared’s fixation had been festering long before that night. Enzo wasn’t innocent, but he wasn’t the root of this. Jared was.

But blaming Jared? That was dangerous.

You didn’t go after staff. Not unless you wanted to be labeled difficult. Unstable. Not unless you were ready to lose every ounce of ground you’d earned. Misha had learned that lesson too many times. No one believed the kid with the attitude and the smirk and the wings. And even if they did—it wouldn't stop what had already happened.

So he swallowed the truth. Let it burn on the way down.

The hallway was empty now. Still. Quiet. His heartbeat sounded too loud in his ears. That rage, that deep sickened grief, had nowhere to go—so he did what he always did.

Locked it down. Filed it away. Repress, deny, deflect. If he couldn’t beat the system, he’d survive it. And if he couldn’t survive it clean, he’d survive it dirty.

That meant Enzo would take the blame. Enzo, with his quiet gazes and detached posture. Enzo, who Misha could anger and scream at without consequences. Enzo, who wouldn’t fight back the same way Jared had. He was safe enough to project onto.

Because Misha needed someone to hate.

And he couldn't afford for it to be the right person.

His wings ached as they flexed behind him, stiff and sore from the night’s chaos. His stomach still churned, tender from where Jared had struck him—twice, maybe three times, he wasn’t sure. It all blurred.

But outwardly? Misha looked calm. A crooked smirk curled at the edges of his mouth, armor built from habit. He walked the hallway like nothing happened. Like the night hadn’t caved in around him. His boots echoed in confident rhythm, his wings dragged just enough to seem careless. Pride was a mask he wore well.

Let them think he was fine. Let them think Enzo had done it. Let them keep pinning the blame on someone—so long as it wasn’t Jared. So long as it wasn’t someone Misha couldn’t fight back against.

Because deep down, he knew if he admitted the truth, it wouldn’t end in justice.

It would end with silence.

And Misha had already been through enough silence for one lifetime.

OOC Note: Just to clarify—Enzo did not talk to Jared or have any part in influencing him. This misunderstanding is entirely internal to Misha’s perspective. Misha is projecting blame onto Enzo due to his own emotional struggles and trauma, which makes him see Enzo as the source of the conflict even though Enzo hasn’t actually done anything wrong. This dynamic is meant to highlight Misha’s complex mindset and his tendency to misplace blame because he’s unwilling or unable to confront the real, more painful truth. So, while Misha’s resentment toward Enzo runs deep, it’s important to remember that Enzo is innocent in this situation.