Losing hope is the fastest route towards death in dire situations.

Odyssia has forced optimism into her mind for the past three days, drugging herself with maladaptive happiness in a desperate bid to cope with her situation. Still, now, in the serology lab, surrounded on all sides by red-crusted monsters that look too human to kill, Odyssia finally finds morbidity through it all.

She's never been in so much pain. Her right arm has been eviscerated by an unfortunate encounter in the hospital hallways with a hulking monster at least eight feet tall. It's swollen beyond what should be expected, and gently shifting her shoulder or collarbone is enough to send shooting agony up to her brain, white-hot as lightning, searing similarly. Once youthful and bright, her face is marred by patches of blood, both her own and the infected blood of others, and a thin layer of grime and dirt clings to her skin. She had such a future ahead of her in the hospital; the Chief of Radiation, a candidate for the Dean once her boss retired. Yet, the world falls around her, crashing into pieces, cutting her off from the future she envisioned since the day she learned how to hold a scalpel.

In the serology lab, she waits for death. Huddled in one corner, hidden by mobile steel shelving and broken test tubes, her black hair has fallen out of its tight bun and falls across her war-weary face in long, blood-soaked strands. She does not expect extraction nor salvation. She had hoped for that very thing in the early days, when she was doing everything she could to salvage patients and colleagues from the once-sapient crimson-eyed beasts that raided the hospital, but no longer. Her hope for salvation only made the pain of such an impossibility more potent when the yearning waned. Now, her expectations go to the ground so that she can no longer be disappointed by what comes next; perhaps the beasts will eventually break through the makeshift barricade in the front doors and feast upon her so that she may become one of them. Or maybe that is too kind for them.

To save herself further heartbreak, Odyssia forcefully shakes her head and knocks morbid images from her mind, salvaging her rock-bottom mentality from a natural breakdown. Imagination is a fickle thing. It simply does not matter what happens next. All she can think about is what happens in the current moment.

Such a mentality, of course, does not save her from the shock of proper, genuine extraction. She had spent the last days praying to a God she no longer believes in, hoping for a benevolent afterlife, when she should have been praying to the real human beings working on her situation for the past few days. Above her, the ceiling breaks, and she's covered in drywall pallets for moments at a time as a shocked gasp leaves her mouth. She doesn't dare to look up for a few seconds, squeezing her eyes shut out of fear that she may find Hell reflected into her gaze, but as the dust settles and sound glitches back into her sphere of attention, she finally shifts her eyes open and upward.

Above her, a face. A spark of red hair and a war-torn face hidden beneath a plexiglass face shield and a yellow decontamination suit, a woman with histories untold but mercy to give. Her eyes, green as a long grass field, look into Odyssia's deep dark gaze for a moment before the red-maned savior looks up and to the side to shout something to an ally. Odyssia's ears are ringing to the point of isolation, and the deafening effect does not assist in the doctor determining her situation. Still, she can tell that something good is happening. After all those days of praying for extraction, her wish finally comes true.

The woman returns to Odyssia with another living, breathing angel, this time a man in the same yellow garb, wearing the same face shield, braving the infectious elements just for Odyssia, the sole survivor of a catastrophic disaster. He looks at her with kindness Odyssia has not felt for weeks, but such kindness should not be mistaken for weakness; she can tell that beneath him dwells a lion, ready to pounce on every predator that dares to terrorize his team. Both the man and the woman drop down into the hole they created above Odyssia, and their boots touch down onto blood-stained linoleum tiles directly adjacent to where Odyssia sits and cowers. As they ensure the room is clear, looking from left to right with high-caliber guns-an assault rifle for the woman, a submachine gun for the man-Odyssia's ears finally clear.

The woman takes advantage of this. She kneels down, clutching her assault gun close to her armored chest, and she nods to Odyssia with an urgent look. "Doctor Aubin? We're getting you out of here."

Odyssia nods, both relieved and in agreement; against all odds, a smile finds her face to form dimples on her soot-stained cheeks as a single tear rolls from her eye and down to her jaw. She can't find the energy to answer them, as even focusing on their faces prompts a pulsating sensation in her head, but the least she can do is nod. The woman nods back with a shift of her mouth. She stands up, and the man takes her place, kneeling in front of Odyssia as the woman takes to inspecting the lab's makeshift barricades.

"I am Doc; she is Ash," the man informs Odyssia with a gesture to his redhead partner, though he speaks with a subtle, gentle accent that reminds Odyssia of home, an emotional sensation calming enough to remove the tension from her aching shoulders. "Can you walk?"

She winces as she shifts from the position she's laid in for the past few hours. "My legs are uninjured," comes her answer as she looks back to Doc. "But I'm in a lot of pain. I haven't been able to splint my arm."

Doc's face shifts beneath his mask, going from an expression of genuine compassion to that of focus, albeit concerned beyond belief, as he inspects Odyssia's right arm. "Broken, but I'm certain you knew that," he informs her, to which Odyssia nods in agreement. "I'm going to sling it, and then I will administer a dose of epinephrine. This should be enough to carry us to our proper medical facilities."

Odyssia squints, though she does her best to stifle the expression. This hospital was raided and destroyed within days; how safe can the other facility be? Doc seems to catch these underlying thoughts because he gently places his hand on Odyssia's uninjured shoulder and urges her into reason with his soft, smooth voice. "You will be safe," he murmurs. "I promise."

"Pinky promise?" Odyssia raises her left pinky finger in the air, urging him to curl his around hers. It's silly, a childish notion unbecoming of an active warzone, but it is the only tradition Odyssia can hang onto in such dire straits.

Doc laughs, charmed. After a few seconds, he raises one hesitant pinky to hers, and he curls them together.

"Pinky promise."

A promise forged, Odyssia leans back with a satisfied nod, although it rapidly becomes streaked with pain as she disrupts her right arm. Wincing, a tiny, muffled noise grits through grinding teeth and Odyssia squeezes her eyes shut to stifle her urge to scream out in agony. Doc's pinky leaves her, and his skillful, gloved hands rapidly return to his back, where he unearths a long blue piece of dirtied fabric from an earthen-hued, military-grade backpack. His hands go close to Odyssia's right arm, although he pauses before he can touch her.

"This will hurt quite a bit. I will need you to be quiet, so we do not attract any undue attention from the monsters in the hospital."

Odyssia nods, peering up through one eye past her long, sweeping eyelashes, but even she is unsure if she can comply with the request. Even so, Doc's hands inch closer to her shoulder.

Of course, such a man is never unprepared. His mind had likely been on the same path, and as one hand gently takes her swollen, fractured forearm from her upper thigh, another hand moves up to Odyssia's face to cover her mouth. As soon as his touch finds purchase on her arm, Odyssia's mouth automatically opens to let loose a scream of agony and terror, but Doc's foresight rewards him, and he stifles her cry with his palm. Odyssia tastes his nitrile exam gloves as a river of tears instinctively flows from her eyes.

This agonizing sound continues for as long as he touches her. Her face is twisted into an inhuman scream, and her eyes pulsate with flowing tears as Doc strings her arm up with buckles and loops. With time, her broken, compounded arm lies at a ninety-degree angle in a makeshift sling strung across her shoulder and around her chest and torso. The pain does not subside and grows more intense as a result, but as Doc removes his hand from her mouth, exam gloves impacted by teeth imprints, not a sound leaves Odyssia's mouth. Starstruck and spellbound, the pain remains, but hope caps off her desperation to be heard. For the first time in a while, she comes face-to-face with the idea that she might actually survive this.

A weary smile approaches Doc's face as he wipes excess saliva from his gloves onto his yellow isolation pants. "It is done," he informs her. "You did well."

A nod. She closes her mouth tightly in fear that should she attempt speaking, all that will escape is a cry of agony. In the meantime, Doc removes a small syringe filled with blue liquid from his vest.

"Now, I will give you the epinephrine dose."

And he does. Rolling up Odyssia's pants, he balls up the fabric of her scrubs until they reach just beneath her pelvis. Then, with a careful hand, he removes the syringe cap and twists on the needle, at which point he wiggles it into her outer thigh. The pain is nothing compared to what Odyssia feels in her arm, and nothing more than a wince crosses her face in response. His hands ghost across her thigh as he presses the syringe's liquid through the needle and into her flesh. Once the medicine has been exhausted, he carefully removes it, untwists the needle, and tucks it back into his tactical vest while rolling her pant leg down. Already, Odyssia feels strength return to her body, surging through her veins like lightning streaking into her soul. All at once, she's capable of moving her legs again. The mere sight of such a feat provides a proud—albeit tired—smile to Doc's face.

"You'll be okay."

Ash speaks up behind Doc, and he sends a glance in her direction as he rises to his feet. "We need to go back through where we came," she informs him, expression grim. "This entire hallway is swarmed. The infected probably know that she's—"Ash points her finger at Odyssia. "—the last survivor in the facility."

Doc's face is hidden from Odyssia's prying eyes, but the grim quality of his tone indicates all Odyssia needs to know. "Alright," he nods, though he speaks as if he carries the world upon his back, weary from ancient weights. "Let's do it quickly. Ensure Jäger is ready for extraction."

Ash's voice goes quiet, reverent for the tepid silence in the lab, broken only by shuffling, shambling footsteps just outside the barricaded door, constituting blurry shadows and broken silhouettes. "How is she?"

Doc's voice is quiet too. Odyssia hears anyways. "She's… We should just get her out as soon as we can."

Ash nods. "We need the samples first."

Remembrance shines like a beacon on Doc's face. He looks back to Odyssia with an apologetic smile. Odyssia looks back, face streaked with tears and marred with grime. "Doctor Aubin, we need to make a request before we extract you," he begins, to which Odyssia swallows thickly and gives a tepid nod. "You're our only hope for a cure. We know you have Patient Zero research here, and we need to bring it with us. Where have you stored it?"

Odyssia's lips form a thin line upon her face, a mix of dread and exasperation. Rest has never been close, forever a long, distant light shining on the horizon that moves with every step she takes forward. She should have known that beyond the hospital, she would not find peace; she had imagined such a scenario when mercy seemed impossible, but now that she looks into Doc's brown eyes, brimming with compassion and the future, she knows that this is her duty. It has always been her duty. She must usher the town, Truth Or Consequences, through this dark age.

She relents as stars burst in her gaze. Her left-hand raises to direct attention towards a small corner of the lab, where a door leads to a walk-in refrigerator. "Blood samples in there," she murmurs, voice scratching against the phlegm in her throat. "Third shelf on the left."

Then her left-hand shifts to the right. Her finger lands on a shelving unit that has miraculously survived the assault on the hospital, filled to the brim with handwritten notes and files, some stained with crimson ichor. "Manila folder there. Has everything."

Dutiful as ever, Ash immediately surges into the walk-in refrigerator while Doc turns to retrieve the files behind him. Within seconds, Ash returns to the room with small glass vials tucked carefully in her arms, each thick with a small pool of sticky red blood, while Doc consolidates the files and tucks them away into his backpack. The blood vials also enter his backpack, carefully secured in a small pocket and closed away with a zipper. With the research squared away, the only remaining extraction is Odyssia. Both Ash and Doc turn to fix their eyes upon the woman in question.

"We should get moving," Ash says.

Doc's agreement is silent, nothing more than a forward tilt of his head as he leans down to extend his black-sleeved arms to Odyssia. "We must extract you," he informs her in a low tone. "I will support you as needed. Lean on me."

Odyssia's first instinct is to decline the help. Forever the stubborn girl, she must actively stifle the urge to turn her head up at Doc's offer. In fact, she attempts to rise from the ground on her own, bunching her legs beneath her body to push herself away from her death spot, but without the use of her right arm, such an action becomes messy and clumsy. She falls back to the linoleum with a wince and a hiss of pain, and though she squeezes her eyes shut, she can't possibly mistake the squint and scowl on Doc's face. His silent but potent chastising is enough to force Odyssia into accepting his offered arm. A slow and begrudging 'okay' leaves her maw as she gently grips his forearm with her left hand.

He hoists her up and puts his arm under her left shoulder, supporting her from below while he ensures his right hand ghosts across her right arm without actually touching it. Of course, as Doc is about five inches taller than she is, this structure becomes difficult to maintain, but sacrifices must be made in warzones. When Ash realizes that Odyssia is secure, she scrambles up the hole in the ceiling created right over what Odyssia had once assumed to be her deathbed, the tiny corner in the lab with a broken glass spiderweb thrown haphazardly across the ground. Watching Ash, Odyssia can't help but realize something.

Damn, she is athletic.

She's covered from head to toe in isolation gear, a sterilized yellow HAZMAT suit. Still, even Odyssia recognizes the rippling muscles in her arms and legs, especially so when she leaps from ground to ceiling to place her forearms on a crumbling ledge and hoists herself up. Of course, Doc is remarkably muscular in addition, recognized only now that Odyssia leans into him and relies on his strength to hold her above the ground. With every shaky step she takes, her body threatens to tear her down again, much akin to a duckling learning to walk for the very first time. Doc's support, however, is all that she needs to stay upright for long enough to stumble towards the hole in the ceiling. Her body molds into his, and through dedication, they make it.

Then comes the tricky part—getting Odyssia through the hole in the first place. While moving through the ceiling and up to the second floor allows the team to avoid pushback from the mutants on the first floor, they sacrifice mobility for safety. For a few moments, Doc and Odyssia stand and stare through the hole at Ash, who stares back, neither party utterly confident of the best way to proceed. Alas, there is no time for contemplation. Without further discussion, Ash holds her arms out towards Odyssia. "Give her to me."

Doc's voice is hesitant as he gently disentangles Odyssia from his bodily support. "Be careful with her arm, Ash."

"No promises."

Without warning, Ash's hands extend down and out to wrap beneath Odyssia's armpits and hoist her upwards. Without ample notice, Odyssia is unable to stifle her scream of agony as searing pain shoots up her arm, burning into the surface of her mind as she scrambles upward. The trauma is unbearable enough that all of her other senses are dulled, almost entirely blocking out Doc's efforts to push her through the hatch from beneath. His hands press into her lower thighs as he single-handedly lifts her above his shoulders. Out-of-breath and biting her lips, Odyssia finally manages to sling her left arm onto the lip of the breach. With Ash's upward motion, she's brought upward and through the hole into a slumped-over position on the debris-littered linoleum tiles. Soon after, Doc hoists himself through as well.

Now, in relative silence, the trio finds themselves in a long, grime-filled hallway. Perhaps in the past, such a hallway had been used to house patients, as one side is lined by a long array of open doorways, some doors hanging from hinges while others have been obliterated entirely. On the left, windows cover the wall from the ceiling to halfway above the floor, allowing the dying sunlight to filter into the building and kiss Odyssia's battered face for the first time in days. Smoke streams from the hospital to the sky in a thick plume of ashen soot, and though it threatens to devour the horizon, the sun still shines through the airborne detritus, ablaze as a ball of fire in the far distance. It is hope personified, the promise of safety. Odyssia's chest swells at once upon spotting it, and life surges back into her body like a roaring lion. For the first time in what feels like decades, she knows that she is alive.

"We shouldn't stay in one place for too long." She's dragged down to earth by Doc's grounding hand upon her shoulder. She barely manages to draw her sunkissed eyes from the horizon and to his face.

Right, of course. Odyssia forces her focus back to the task at hand; of course, Ash is already moving. Surging ahead, she ensures each room on the right is clear before advancing down the hallway, drawing her assault rifle (with a small flashlight mounted to the barrel) to stare down each open doorway before moving past. Her military training shines through in times of strife, indicating a personality with deep respect and great reverence for procedure and habits. She relies on her past to give her context for the future, and it shows.

Perhaps Doc would have been the same if he was not attached to a patient at the hip. Odyssia sees such a quality clear in his eyes. He feels vulnerable and nervous, for his hands tremble as he goes forward with Odyssia at his side, and his eyes are wide-open as they glance down each adjacent doorway in the hallway as they pass, perhaps double-checking Ash's work. Both of them have seen active duty, and Odyssia can tell. She was the same as them at some point. The military paid for her education, and she paid the military with blood, sweat, and tears. However, where Ash and Doc went to the frontlines, Odyssia retired to the backlines. That is the crucial difference between all three of them.

However, perhaps the most significant difference now is that Odyssia is the least capable of all three, especially when ruined by pain. This is best displayed when the trio reaches the end of the hallway, a dead-end save for a single doorway to the right, leading into a stairwell with a flickering green 'EXIT' sign glistening just above. Ash peers in, leaning her head through the doorway, only to rapidly pull her head back and away from the door with eyes wide and her chest heaving with the weight of her own breath.

Seconds later, the ground shakes as an unseen beast collides with the stairwell. The entire building groans as its foundations shake and tremble, and Odyssia's legs threaten to give out beneath her. She's only salvaged from her fate by Doc's quick thinking as he bunches his arms beneath her shoulder. Even so, none of them are in the clear. From this angle, Odyssia has difficulty peering into the distant stairwell, but she cannot mistake the gruesome, mishappen glimpses of flesh beyond the doorway. A beast has scaled the stairwell, and it has just found new prey.

Once a human, the mutant has since abandoned its reason in the pursuit of hunger. Even from here, Odyssia sees the torn hospital gown barely clinging fast to the mutant's spiny red carapace, and her heart sinks into her stomach. Had she treated him before he turned? Had she looked into his eyes, unaware of what he would become? Had she held his hands and told him that everything would be okay?

Did she fail him?

Once more unto the breach. The mutant, too large to escape the stairwell through the exit door, takes one massive claw to the top of the doorframe and slams into it with gruesome brutality. The hospital's foundations shake again, and so does Odyssia's heart. She's frozen, overtaken by guilt, made a frozen statue by tragedy. How many has she lost? How many have given up because of her failure? Why is she the only one to make it out alive?

Why, why, why, why—

Something's happening. Ash had been searching the hallway for another means of escape, going from windows down to the other end of the corridor, but now she stands stock-still, her back pressed to the wall behind her, staring at Odyssia with her mouth agape. Doc's face is one of shock as well. Though his hands remain on Odyssia's shoulders, his face goes limp. There's fresh blood on his plastic face shield.

Odyssia looks down. A long, pipe-like claw protrudes from her stomach, inching out from her body.

Impaled. She's impaled.

The shock comes quick, unconsciousness even faster. The last thing she remembers is falling down to the ground, her gaze rolling to the ceiling as a bullet whizzes above her face. It implants into the head of a mutant behind her as Doc leans down to yell into her face.

She can't tell what he's saying, only that he's panicked. Her ears fade into pins and needles, then silence, as her eyes slip close.

Hope. She feels it again, bright and beautiful and cherished.

Then it is gone.