SCP-035 x Reader - Adoration

Chapter 22

[22- Titus]

   All of the hallways had begun to look the same. I only kept running.

   The ground underneath me continued to shake, and the facility around me continued to fall apart. I dodged the dangers of my collapsing surroundings, coming close to getting injured a couple times due to me not paying enough attention to what was going on around me.

   Tiny bits of ceiling were falling and bouncing off the floor, and I glance up to see that the ceiling was seconds away from completely crumbling. The sound of it bursting prompted my feet to launch me to the side, as I could not outrun any of it. I scrambled for a door handle and flung the door open, bursting inside of the room. I slammed the door behind me to shut it, though it only bounced off of the debris piling into the room. As I stared at the mound of rubble that was now blocking my exit, I realised I had potentially just trapped myself. At least, I thought, it was better than being crushed.

   My brain finally caught up with the state of my body and I hunched forward, heavy pants forcing themselves out of me. I cursed under it and hung my head, my hands on my knees. My lungs and the back of my throat were on fire. I very well could have collapsed there and allowed myself to close my eyes and gave up for a bit right then and there.

   Yet I would not lie down anywhere and rest my eyes, so long as I had someone to get back to. I wasn't even entirely certain on why I was so determined to, considering it was a dangerous, homicidal, manipulative mask, but I was. I was, and I needed him to escape this place as much I was sure he needed me.

   "You good?"

   My body jolted and straightened in an instant, and I whipped the rifle from my back and into my hands. I aimed it in the direction the voice had come from.

   I came face to a man sitting in a corner in the room, and even though it was dim, I could see him clearly. I'd hardly heard him over the crumbling facility, but I knew him not to be hostile outright. He wore an orange jumpsuit that I was all too familiar with, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was covered in dirt, blood, and was torn all over. With his rolled up sleeves I was able to make out some tattoos, including one that I recognised to be a prison tattoo. It was obvious even from a distance that the man was drained, his face sunken and his posture slacking. He looked at me with a cold, dead face, as if there wasn't anything in the world that could phase him anymore.

   My eyebrows scrunched together and I hardened my gaze through my exhaustion, not lowering the gun. "Figures I'd get stuck in here with one of you," I muttered through my pants.

   He shrugged, not moving from where he was. "Figures."

   I lowered the rifle with a swift motion and looked back to the rubble blocking the doorway. "How'd you even get this far?"

   "I'm a real lucky guy," he deadpanned.

   I snorted. "Okay."

   "Well, what about you, then?" He asked back.

   I returned my gaze on him, seeing he still hadn't moved a muscle from where he was huddled in that corner. "Long story."

   "Aren't you supposed to kill me on sight or something?" He asked, his hands loosely moving toward the end for emphasis.

   I wasn't immediate to answer, finally beginning to catch my breath. "You aren't in my way."

    "Come again?"

   I returned the rifle to my back and finally gave into the pleas of my aching legs and lowering down onto the ground, reaching the man's level. "You haven't given me a reason to kill you."