Singed and Crane sat in silence, both slowly sipping their tea. The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable—just the natural stillness of two people with no need for small talk.
After finishing his cup, Crane leaned back slightly, expecting the moment to end there. But then, Singed reached for the kettle and poured another cup.
Crane raised an eyebrow. "Oh, uh… I don't want another one," he said, crossing his arms.
"This one isn't for you," Singed replied, his voice as unreadable as ever.
Before Crane could question him, the metal door creaked open.
He turned toward the entrance as Silco stepped inside. Behind him, a few of his men followed, each carrying heavy wooden crates. They moved without a word, setting the boxes down in the corner with dull thuds that echoed through the lab.
Silco sat down across from Singed, his sharp gaze flickering to Crane for only a moment before settling on the chemist.
Singed silently pushed the cup of tea toward him.
Silco picked it up, examining the steaming liquid before speaking.
"What's the deal with the boy?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. He took a slow sip, then added, "Taking in strays now?"
Singed took a sip of his own tea before replying in his usual measured tone. "He's my assistant. He has his uses."
Crane lifted his cup, intending to take a sip and blend into the conversation—only to remember he had already finished it. He set it back down, hoping no one noticed.
Everyone did.
Silco exhaled slowly, setting his cup down with deliberate care. His fingers tapped once against the table before he leaned back, fixing Singed with an expectant stare.
"What progress have you made with shimmer?" he asked, his tone measured and expectant.
"Not enough to keep the host alive," Singed admitted, "but progress has been made. Give or take a couple of months."
A brief silence stretched between them.
Silco studied him for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. He set his cup aside.
"Show me."
———————————-
Singed carefully picked up the needle filled with shimmer, the liquid gleaming softly under the lab's dim light. Without looking up, he handed it to Crane.
"Get a mouse," Singed instructed, gesturing toward the corner of the room where a small cage sat. Inside, a few mice scurried about, unaware of their impending fate.
Crane glanced at the cage, his expression unreadable.
"Just leave it to me," he said, his voice flat.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped over to the cage, reaching in to grab one of the mice. The creature squeaked in protest but stayed still as Crane held it in his hand.
Crane set the mouse on the table, the needle pressing gently against its fur. He looked up at Singed, waiting for confirmation before injecting it.
Singed nodded.
With a steady hand, Crane injected the shimmer into the mouse. Almost immediately, its body began to twist and contort, growing larger at an alarming rate as it mutated before their eyes.
In a sudden, panicked motion, the mouse lunged and bit off Crane's middle finger.
"Dagnabbit!"
The pain was sharp, but Crane barely flinched.
His grip loosened, and the mouse fell from his hand, landing on the table.
It stopped moving for a brief moment, its body expanding grotesquely. Then, with a sickening pop, it couldn't contain the transformation any longer.
The mouse exploded, spraying blood and bits of flesh into the air.
Luckily—or unluckily—Crane was the only one close enough to the blast.
The warm, sticky remnants splattered across his face and arms, coating his clothes in a gruesome mess.
Crane wiped the blood from his eyes with a grimace, his face twisted in a mix of disgust and frustration.
"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he stepped back, trying to brush the mess off his clothes.
Singed, unfazed by the explosion, glanced at the remains of the mouse before turning his attention to Silco. "It produced some desirable results," he said, his tone clinical and detached, "but it's too unstable for now."
He didn't seem particularly bothered by the mess, as he focused on the potential of the shimmer.
"This is significant progress since last time," Silco remarked, clearly impressed. "Six months—that is the deadline."
Singed nodded, his expression unreadable. "That's reasonable."
Crane slid his hand into his pocket, his expression still strained from the pain.
As he did, his middle finger, which had been bitten off, slowly began to regenerate in the confines of his pocket, the flesh knitting itself back together in a matter of moments, as though it had never been lost at all.
Silco's men gathered their things, preparing to leave the lab. Silco, however, paused at the metal door, his gaze lingering on Crane for a moment before he looked back at Singed.
"Do you trust him?" Silco asked, his voice steady, though there was a hint of curiosity behind the question. He gestured toward Crane, who was still absentmindedly checking his clothes.
Singed took a slow breath before responding, his tone flat, as always. "As much as you could trust anyone in Zaun."
Silco gave a slight nod, as if weighing the answer.
He glanced at Crane one last time before stepping through the door, his men following close behind.
The door shut with a heavy clang, leaving Singed and Crane alone in the lab once again.
Taking his hand out of his pocket, Crane glanced at Singed, his tone surprisingly earnest. "Well, if it means anything, I trust you more than anyone else in Zaun."
"So what are the boxes for?" Crane asked, glancing at the crates the men had brought in.
"Their materials I needed," Singed replied, his voice nonchalant as he glanced toward the boxes.
———————————-
After cleaning up the mess the dead mouse had left behind, Crane made his way to the shower, eager to wash off the blood and grime that had splattered onto his clothes and skin.
As the warm water cascaded down his body, Crane took a moment to look down at his body, a hint of disgust flickering across his face.
Every single day, I get dirt and grime on me. I know it's only been two days, but still…
He gazed at his arm, focusing intently as he took a deep breath to center himself. His thoughts sharpened, his pulse steadying as he concentrated on the pheromones within him.
Slowly, but surely, a faint yellow cloud of gas began to form around his hand, swirling in the damp air of the shower.
The acrid, almost metallic scent of fear lingered as the pheromones began to take shape, just barely visible as a shifting mist.
His mind raced, a mixture of satisfaction and frustration settling in. It was working, but only just.
The pheromones had a weak presence, not nearly as potent as he needed them to be.
It's not enough yet. Not nearly enough.
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I could've gotten this chapter done earlier, but I was busy playing yo Kai watch.