Natural Selection (Elijah Kamski x Reader)

Collateral Damage

You were given one job: don't get into trouble. You were to keep your head down and out of fire. But that was the old way of doing things. You'd moved on from that boring lifestyle. Standing in the midst of debris as worlds crumbled around you was a scenario that'd become your natural habitat. If you were taken out and put in a place with an ounce of stability, you wouldn't even know what to do with yourself.

Officer Dickart
Today 6:48AM
I told you to stay put. Where did you go? Why aren't you answering my calls?

Officer Dickart
Today 6:48AM
I'm putting a fucking tracker on you.

To: Officer Dickart
I'm at CyberLife. Need to do something. I'll be quick.
Message Sent

You turned your phone off before the slew of rabid shouts and spam calls came. Got in the elevator, and straightened your clothes out. They were hardly anything you'd ever normally wear in the office. You cut yourself some slack. A sharp, twisting pain in your stomach reminded you that you've been through a lot, and the last thing on your mind should be what the lab rat and his supercharged computer thought about your attire.

The doors closed, and your descent to the lowest level began. You watched the CyberLife tower's interior flicker between floors like a flip book of your entire life's work melting away. This could be the last time you'd step foot in this place, and you barely had time to pack your things. That got you thinking about your living situation. Where would you go after this? What would you do? Where would you live? You were quite fond of your condo, but after the things that'd happened there, could you really stay there? Would Elijah let you?

Let you.

That notion made you feel sicker than you already did.

The elevator slowed, the opposite of your heart rate. You were about to face the man whose life you ruined. He'd been racked with guilt. Sickly. He'd lost weight and looked frail, when once, he was healthy and...well, not strong, but nothing like the sagging skin on bones you'd encountered after the incident with Amanda. However, as the doors opened and Philp stood waiting, a very different man greeted you. A red light came from behind him, making him look as if he'd just stepped out in front of an oncoming train. Shadows blotted out every feature on his face, caused by sun rays tracing all sides of him. His darkened silhouette was haunting.

"Mrs. Kamski." He crossed his hands on top of a clipboard he held in front of him, "I've been trying to get ahold of you for days. I've been expecting you."

His possession of such a relic struck you as odd. No one used them anymore, not in the age of digital revolution. His attitude, however, was more so. He looked completely normal. Sounded normal. Almost as if nothing had ever happened.

"You have?" You asked.

"Yes. Well, I should say...we, have been expecting you."

He stepped aside, giving you a better view of the room. The ceiling was comprised of tungsten-colored tiles at least five by five feet. The floor matched their color, but the tiles were smaller. The walls looked like grainy stainless steel, seamless in its oval shape, no gaps between panels as if it were one piece bent to fit the room. There was a lounging chair with a floor lamp and a small end table next to it. It had books underneath and one bookmarked on the top. A large, Persian rug laid between that area and a work bench with at least 10 monitors, multiple keyboards, and machines lining the perimeter. Philip even had his own bathroom and kitchen off to the right side, and a modular bedroom on the other. The whole setup reminded you of a movie you'd watched where they put a high valued war criminal in the best room they had in order to keep him comfortable enough to continue being an asset.