It had been a package, a fucking delivery trip. A few hours tops, right? Cruise through the Arklay backroads, drop off the box, sign whatever fucking paper they shoved at him, and get the hell out of Dodge. Then crawl back home to Michelle. Sure, the ice was a bitch, he wasn’t outfitted for the snow- but that had never stopped Bryan before. Double pay was double pay, and he sure as hell didn’t want to go home just yet.

And if that made him an asshole, whatever. He would make it up to her. He just needed to run. Run for a little while, burn off some steam, tire himself out. And what better way to do that than a drive through the woods that paid double? Right?

…

The past few hours were a blur. Felt like a fucking lifetime. He couldn't get that woman's face out of his head. The way she'd turned to stare at him, hand outstretched, eyes glazed over. That fucking dog- whatever it was… And most of all the girl. The little girl.

Bryan tried not to think about it all now, stumbling through the parking garage of the hospital- that fucking satchel clutched to his chest. He was freezing, his skin aching, his blood still running hot with adrenaline. He slammed his hand against the elevator receiver again and again, fingers shaking so badly he couldn't even tell where the blood on his knuckles had come from. He didn’t look too hard, really, knowing that he would be more sickened if he didn’t find any split on his hands to be the perpetrator.

After a few more increasingly desperate hits, the little box crackled to life. The button blinked green, and a burst of static spilled from the speaker. He flinched at the sudden interruption, hand jumping up briefly before he caught himself.

“Hey… Hey!”

He rasped, surging forward, straining to listen as the receiver flickered in and out.

“Wh-”

The line sputtered, a distorted voice reaching him. Come on… Work, Goddammit. Bryan looked around frantically, searching for the security camera that would be linked to the other end of the phone line. Struggling to snatch the bag from around his neck.

“Can you,”

The static cleared. Bryan shoved the bag up toward the camera, holding it out like some kind of war trophy.

“You want this? Come on, let me in- fuck. Get me out of here!”

Bryan blurted, panting. He was damn near crying, and at this point, he'd get on his knees and beg if he had to. He was stopped in his tracks when the route fired up again, and whoever was on the other line sounded pissed.

“I can’t HEAR YOU.”

Bryan stammered, awkwardly shuffling forward to touch the button on the receiver again. Cradling the satchel, he leaned in to speak.

…

And that was that. Within half an hour, he'd been rushed into the safe zone, through the main floor, across another building, and down into the basements. Plural? Who gave a shit? Scientists and officers were already swarming him,prying the satchel out of his arms. The relief was instantaneous. It was over. This was over. He was going home to Michelle.

One of the officers clapped him on the back, laughing loud enough to shake the room. The kind of laugh you'd expect from somebody's father, halfway through telling a joke nobody asked to hear. A glimpse of something Bryan wasn't ready to think about.

“Let’s give it up for our gunrunner!”

The man boasted, grinning as the satchel was placed down and scientists swarmed to check on the “package.” People were smiling. One man was on the verge of tears as he embraced a coworker—no, he was crying. Laughing, too.

Bryan watched them from where he stood, still trying to catch his breath. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do now. They had the bag. That was the important part.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder again, and Bryan managed something that might've passed for a smile if anyone had been looking closely enough. He could barely feel his face. His head was still pounding, his fingers stiff and aching, and there was a nasty, lingering tremor in his hands that he couldn't seem to shake.

But he was inside. There were people here. Actual people with clean coats and equipment and enough security to make the place look like it might survive the next five minutes.

He could breathe. More than that, maybe he could go home.

Behind him, the scientists were talking over one another, their excitement bubbling into a dozen overlapping conversations. Someone was laughing so hard they had to wipe their eyes. Another person stood with both hands pressed over their mouth, staring at the satchel as though it contained the answer to every prayer they'd ever made.

Bryan glanced back at it.

All that fuss over a fucking bag.

He almost laughed. Christ, he'd nearly frozen his ass off for this thing, aside from the other things he’d endured to get here. The other horrors. Whatever was inside had better be worth the trouble.

One of the scientists knelt beside the satchel, speaking quickly to another as they checked the fastenings. A third hovered over their shoulder, practically bouncing on their heels. There was a brief argument about where to put it, followed by a flurry of movement as someone cleared a space on the table.

Bryan didn't pay much attention. His thoughts had already started drifting elsewhere, back toward the drive home, the warmth of his apartment, the simple luxury of sitting down somewhere that didn't smell like disinfectant and fear.

Then the zipper caught.

Someone muttered something Bryan couldn't make out.

The zipper moved again.

And for a moment, nobody said anything.

One of the scientists had gone completely still, staring down into the open satchel. Beside them, another leaned closer, then recoiled so quickly their hip struck the table.

“No.”

The word came out barely above a whisper.

Bryan frowned.

What?

One of the lab coats reached into the bag with shaking hands, carefully lifting something out of the mess of equipment.

Glass.

Little pieces of it, glinting beneath the fluorescent lights.

And the green liquid seeping between them.

Oh, fuck. Bryan didn't know what it meant. Not really. But he knew enough to watch the smiles disappear. The people in coats retreated to a corner, frantically trying to salvage what was left of the liquid.

Just as suddenly, someone ushered him into another room, where people who looked a little more like him sat quietly. The officer who'd been laughing moments ago had gone pale. He guided Bryan toward a couple of blankets spread across the floor.

He sat on the makeshift bed, stiff and quivering at the same time as someone stood to meet the man by the door. They exchanged hushed words before the foreigner approached quietly, touching a hand to his shoulder.

“It's safe here.”

{{user}} murmured it quietly, {{poss}} voice hoarse from the last few hours. Bryan wanted to cry. If he was honest, he probably could have, especially with the tears already on this stranger’s face.

And yet, the first thing he thought of, with this stranger's hand resting on his shoulder whispering words to him like a hurt dog… After everything, it was Michelle.