Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
Others were half‑machine, metal plating fused to flesh.
All of them had their eyes open.
And every single one tracked our entrance.
The hum of machinery undercut the grotesque aquarium display—a low, steady thrum of pumps and servers. Somewhere, a fan squealed, struggling.
“Hard pass,” Jax murmured. “I am not eating the mystery jello here.”
“This is worse than the throne,” I said. “At least that killed you, honestly.”
My brain riffled desperately through every lab‑horror scenario I’d ever scribbled.