The Scientist

Adjustments

Tango pov

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the heavy, stuffy air in the room. It was that cramped, three-bedroom apartment—way out of the facility. The dim light barely filtered through the curtains, casting odd, angular shadows over the piles of discarded clothes and crumpled papers strewn across the floor. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and something burnt, like someone had left the stove on too long. There was a sense of chaos embedded in every corner of the space. The kitchen counter was barely visible under a mess of dirty plates, half-empty takeout containers, and a few cups that had started to grow mold.

I rubbed my eyes, disoriented. My head spun with questions, and I couldn’t tell if I was allowed to leave the room or if Mr. Impulse or Dr. Zedaph expected anything of me. The uncertainty gnawed at me. I looked around, feeling like I was trapped in this cluttered space, my chest tightening. My friends were still here too, equally uneasy, except for Xisuma. He seemed as composed as ever, walking out of the room without hesitation to see what was going on. I followed him cautiously, my steps light against the floor, not wanting to disturb whatever fragile peace was left.

As we made our way to the living room, I didn’t expect to see Mr. Impulse and Dr. Zedaph curled up together on the couch, sound asleep. They were entangled in a surprisingly comfortable position, like the mess of the apartment didn’t exist for them. The sight made my heart twinge with an odd sense of longing. A part of me wanted to join them, to seek comfort in their warmth, but I pushed the thought away.

The apartment felt even more suffocating now. The disarray seemed to close in on me—the cluttered coffee table, the mess of blankets, and empty bottles pushed into a corner. My mind wandered to where my friend had gone. There was no sign of the avian anywhere, and Mr. Jumbo must’ve taken him home. A subtle sense of abandonment settled in the pit of my stomach. We all stood around, awkward and unsure, the silence pressing down on us.

My tail flicked anxiously behind me, an uncontrollable response to the tension. I found myself pulling it into my hands, nervously fidgeting with it as the weight of the situation became too much to ignore. None of us knew what to do. We were just here—lost in the mess, both of the apartment and our own uncertainty.

Since none of us knew what to do, we fell into a quiet, almost eerie rhythm—cleaning. It was as if the mess of the apartment became the only thing we could focus on to distract ourselves from the confusion. We moved cautiously, trying not to disturb the peaceful, quiet breathing of Mr. Impulse and Dr. Zedaph still fast asleep on the couch. The TV was still on, its screen casting a soft, dim light that flickered in the background, adding to the muted atmosphere.

We split up, each of us picking a task, not needing to say much. Cleaning air filters, airing out the musty rooms, and making the beds—everything needed attention, so we just did it all. There was no plan, just an unspoken understanding that we needed to keep busy. The stale, stuffy air began to lighten as we opened the windows, letting in the cool morning breeze, and it felt like the apartment was finally starting to breathe again.

Laundry piled up in heaps, and we tackled it methodically, sorting through the chaos while trying not to make too much noise. The dishes were delegated to someone else, the soft clinking of plates and running water adding a soothing white noise to the background. I found myself wiping down the windows, watching the dust and smudges disappear, slowly revealing the world outside—grey skies and quiet streets. Each of us worked in a silent, synchronized effort, the apartment gradually transforming from a chaotic mess into something livable, like we were trying to restore some sense of normalcy in the midst of the uncertainty.

It was strange, though—there was no real conversation, just the sound of our movements, the gentle hum of the TV, and the soft creaking of the apartment as we worked. Every now and then, I'd glance at Xisuma or my other friends, and they looked just as focused, as if cleaning was the only thing anchoring us in this weird, suspended state of not knowing what was next. My tail flicked occasionally as I worked, but it felt less anxious now, more like a part of the steady rhythm we'd all fallen into.