she's taken an interest in bodies. not many rocket intelligence report files are available to her, given her station, but the concept of megalopolans has been around for quite some time. the interest is clinical as much as it is carnal; she likes to know how people tick. 

or, rather, how their meat does. 

"oh," she says, remembering. "never been in one of these before?"

she can guess the answer by the look on his face. 

a smile is flashed, a confident pat on his chest, and then she breezes through, her stoic drowzee behind her. over her shoulder, as the rift ripples around her, she throws, "me neither."

DANE FAIRCHILD

☉

there are dozens more like it around their feet. she shifts and they crunch beneath her boots. maven plods along past her, expert footfalls avoiding any glass shards that might damage her exposed toes. 

sylvie gives it a cursory glance and then shrugs before picking her way after her pokemon. they traverse the grounds in silence until they come upon a dilapidated building. rusted fencing surrounds it and she takes care to draw her bare limbs in close when she stretches over a section of the crumpled metal. 

"i think it's...a hospital," she says; a wry enthusiasm wriggles delightedly in her words. "coast looks clear." 

maven leads them to swinging doors. the interior hallway is dimly lit. papers - or what once remained of papers, most of them yellowed beyond comprehension or turned to muck - litter the ground. she tugs on gloves and skirts behind what looks like a receptionist's desk and tries the keyboard. 

completely dead. 

maven blinks her eyes open and trumpets softly, raising one hand towards the hallway marked ICU. 

DANE FAIRCHILD

☉

maven's tapir toes tread neatly around the broken glass and detritus that litters the ground. her trunk swishes, dozy eyes lifting to watch the cacturne, her brave knight, as he walks into the trap she'd sensed. 

she does not bother warning him. 

the needles sink into the megalopolan's flesh and yet it does not stop. it does not cry out. it makes a gurgling noise in the back of its throat and steps forward, sinking those thorns deeper into sagging flesh. 

sylvie knows a corpse when she sees one and when it takes another step, she snaps crossly at maven. the tapir lifts a pink hand and twirls her fingers, separating deteriorating muscle from bone. 

"stay on guard," she whispers. "there may be more."

DANE FAIRCHILD

☉

madly scribbled notes and incomprehensible, half-rotted journals - that makes up a majority of their findings as they search the hospital. they pick through different wards. when they come upon a congested room of them, they decide against taking on an entire horde. 

when they find a fire escape in the back, they're greeted with fresh air. 

"if there were, i think they'd have found it by now." and maybe they have. maybe leaving this desolate place has cured them. "i suggest we don't stay too long."

DANE FAIRCHILD

☉

she knocks the toe of her boots against the ground, moving around an annoying bit of gravel that had wormed its way in there. maven waits stoically beside the rift, fingers pattering against her thighs. 

"oh. right," she says and she almost doesn't give him hers in return. she's always liked being the nobody, the faceless void behind the mask. 

"it's sylvie."

DANE FAIRCHILD

☉