I follow Henry into another room. It's dimly lit, the glow from a few hanging lamps casting long shadows across the walls. Mechanical tools line every surface, gears and instruments gleaming faintly in the light. In the center sits a sturdy bench—I guess that's where I'm supposed to lay.
"Kid, lay down," Henry says, testing a piece of equipment on the side.
My heart thuds as I climb onto the bench. Fear coils in my stomach, and my mind races with second thoughts, doubts gnawing at me. But I push them aside, forcing myself to lie flat.
Henry produces some sort of syringe and presses it to my leg. The moment it pierces my skin, the pain spikes. I wince, teeth gritting against the sharp ache that radiates up my thigh.
Henry watches me quietly, then exhales. "Thought so. The mutation's too advanced—this won't help."
He leans closer, eyes serious. "Tell me, kid… how long have you had this?"
I pause, thinking back. The stiffness, the dull ache in my right leg… it had been there ever since I arrived in this world.
"I… I think… two and a half months," I stammer, voice barely above a whisper.
Henry's expression shifts to one of surprise. "You're actually quite strong, kid. Most people don't last past the second month. But you… you've lasted over two, and no other part of your body has been infected."
I blink, absorbing his words. The weight of what he's saying sinks in slowly, mingling with the ache in my leg. Somehow… I've survived.
Henry wipes his hands on a rag and turns to me. "So, kid," he says, voice low but firm, "do you want your leg amputated or what?"
I meet his gaze. His eyes are steady, experienced—the kind of look only someone who's seen too much can have. My heart pounds, but somewhere beneath the fear, determination rises like a spark refusing to die.
"Please, Mr. Henry," I say, my voice trembling but clear. "Amputate it. I… I want to live."
For a moment, silence fills the room except for the faint hiss of steam from the pipes. Then Henry lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "You've got guts, kid." His lips twitch into a small, uneven smile. "Alright then."
He starts gathering his tools—metal glinting under the dim light, gears softly clinking. "You'd better not scream too much," he mutters, setting a cloth and a saw onto the table. "Don't want the neighbors thinking I'm butchering someone in here."
—-
Just as he's about to begin, the door creaks open. Lilia steps in, a tray of parts balanced in her hands. The moment her eyes land on the tools—and on me—her expression shifts.
"Pa—what are you—" she starts, but stops cold as realization hits. Her eyes flicker from my leg to Henry's face.
She turns away quickly, pressing a hand over her mouth. "...I'll be outside," she murmurs, voice barely audible, before stepping out of the room.
The door closes softly, leaving only the sound of the ticking clock and the faint hum of the city beyond.
Henry glances at me once more, his expression steady. "Alright, kid," he says. "Let's make sure you get to live."
—-
I grit my teeth as Henry positions me on the bench, his hands steady, precise. The pain in my leg flares up just from the pressure of being lifted and adjusted, and a cold sweat prickles along my spine.
"Deep breath, kid," Henry mutters, adjusting a strap to hold my leg in place. "I need you calm. If you move, it'll be worse."
I nod, swallowing hard, feeling every throb in my thigh. Determination coils through me again—fear is there, but it's buried beneath the need to survive. I can't let it stop me.
Henry injects something else into my leg, a local anesthetic. My leg burns sharply at first, then slowly the pain dulls, replaced by a heavy, strange numbness. I exhale shakily. "…It's… starting to feel… different," I whisper.
He grunts. "Good. Means it's taking effect."
His hands move efficiently, checking his tools, tightening bolts, testing mechanisms. "Kid… you'll feel some pressure and tugging, but it'll be over before you know it. Think of it like—"
I cut him off with a shaky laugh. "Like surviving, right? That's… that's what I'm thinking about."
He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Smart. Keep that thought in your head. Makes this easier."
The first moments are rough—the tug, the unfamiliar motions—but my body is numb enough that I can focus on my breathing. I grip the edge of the bench, knuckles white, willing myself to stay still. Henry's movements are methodical, almost soothing in their precision. Each adjustment, each tap of his tools reminds me he knows exactly what he's doing.
Minutes stretch. The city beyond the workshop hums and hisses, but in here it's just Henry, the mechanical sounds of the instruments, and my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.
"Almost done," Henry says, voice calm but firm. "Good. Keep your head steady. That's it—steady…"
I nod, jaw tight, sweat dripping down my temple. A final pressure, a pull, and then… silence.
I lie there for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My leg feels different—lighter, strange, and unfamiliar—but the constant, burning pain is gone. I flex slightly, testing the bandages and the way my body balances now.
Henry steps back, hands on his hips, studying me. "You did well, kid. No fainting, no screaming. That's impressive."
I manage a small, shaky smile. "Thank… thank you, Mr. Henry."
He chuckles softly, muttering, "Kid's tougher than he looks."
The door creaks again, and Lilia steps inside. Her face is still pale, but she smiles faintly, relief evident in her eyes. "I… I thought you were braver than most," she says, lowering her voice. "Guess I was right."
I swallow and nod, still processing everything. Pain replaced with relief, fear replaced with survival. Somehow, against all odds, I've lived through it.
Henry claps me lightly on the shoulder. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, you'll start learning to walk properly again—and we'll see about getting you back to work. You're not done yet, kid. Not by a long shot."
I nod again, exhaustion washing over me. But underneath it all, a stubborn flame burns. I will survive. I will live.
I feel my vision going black and I pass out.