The Scientist

Fire?

As the relentless rain continued to pound the roof of the old factory, a second figure stumbled through the grimy entrance. Injured, exhausted, and clearly ill, they moved with a laborious effort, dragging their feet through the stagnant puddles that had accumulated on the floor. The dim light from a flickering bulb barely illuminated their haggard face and worn clothes, which, like the others, were in tatters.

With a weary groan, the newcomer collapsed onto a moldy old sofa, the springs creaking under their weight. They tossed a bag of fast food and unhealthy snacks onto the broken coffee table, alongside a few bottles of water and some medicine. The scent of stale food and damp fabric mixed with the pervasive mustiness of the factory. Despite their visible fatigue, the newcomer’s eyes held a glint of determination as they looked toward the workbench where the man had been working.

The man at the workbench finally looked up from his plans, his gaze drifting over to the new arrival. His eyes, fierce and unwavering, met the sickly figure with a hint of irritation. The cold, damp conditions had clearly taken their toll on the new arrival’s health, their shivering form a stark contrast to the man's focused demeanor.

"One of these days," the man at the workbench muttered, his voice carrying a note of frustration, "we need to steal some clothes. You’re going to keep getting sick like this."

The ill figure merely nodded in acknowledgment, their energy clearly spent. They reached for the medicine, their hands trembling slightly. The sound of the rain and the distant hum of the radio provided a grim backdrop to their exchange, a reminder of the harsh reality of their situation.

The factory, with its peeling paint and broken windows, seemed to close in around them, a harsh sanctuary for those who had nowhere else to go. As the rain continued to batter the roof, the work at the bench and the fight against illness became a grim part of their daily struggle—a struggle that would continue, undeterred by the outside world.

The figure at the workbench crumpled a few sheets of paper and, with a determined look, grabbed a small lighter from his pocket. He moved across the factory floor, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the persistent rain outside. His destination was an old burn barrel, a rusty, battered metal drum that had seen better days.

The barrel was half-filled with dry twigs, scraps of wood, and other refuse. With practiced efficiency, he dropped the crumpled papers and lit them with the lighter. The small flame caught quickly, crackling as it spread through the dry material. The fire roared to life, its warmth radiating faintly against the chill of the factory.

He stood over the barrel for a moment, his face illuminated by the flickering light, before stepping back to watch the flames dance. The fire provided a small comfort, its glow barely penetrating the damp and gloom of the factory. The warmth was a meager respite from the relentless cold, but it offered a touch of hope amid the harsh conditions.

Despite the fire’s best efforts, the factory remained damp and cold. The figure at the workbench glanced back at the moldy sofa where the injured and sick newcomer lay, their body shivering in the damp clothes. The warmth from the barrel did little to dry their weary bones or improve their condition, but it was a start—a small, grim symbol of their struggle to survive and maintain some semblance of normalcy in a world that seemed determined to crush them.

"Wels, come here and try to warm up," the figure by the burn barrel called out, his voice strained and shivering as he spoke. The thunder rumbled outside, and a flash of lightning illuminated the dilapidated factory, briefly casting eerie shadows across the room. Despite the storm's fury, the two men seemed largely unaffected, their focus on their immediate concerns.

The figure on the moldy sofa, wrapped in blankets they had pilfered from various sources, responded with a hoarse voice, "Too weak." The blankets were haphazardly thrown over him, offering a small measure of comfort against the cold, but they did little to alleviate his weakened state.