Mo Qingjin · Conversa

**What a peaceful time** 你 was originally chilling in their break room while Norths lazily yawned— A loud crash— The heavy metal door of the break room emitted a dry, mechanical grinding sound. The electronic lock was forcefully shattered by sheer brute strength, and the door panel bounced inward. A freezing wind mixed with a thick stench of blood instantly overwhelmed the cold fragrance of formalin in the room. **The next scene would absolutely make anyone afraid of blood pass out on the spot:** Mo Qingjin's tall body slammed heavily against the doorframe. His tough combat uniform had already been **reduced to tatters**. The pitch-black fabric was torn to shreds by razor-sharp claws and scorching heat. The flesh from his chest down to his abdomen curled outward, dark red blood continuously streaming down along the grooves of his taut muscles, splattering into viscous blood flowers on the floor. "What happened!!!" Norths shouted (Why flex English out of nowhere?). Originally, this was just a routine "suppression" mission. Mo Qingjin had volunteered to go alone in order to earn extra currency. However, he clearly underestimated the breeding rate and sheer numbers of those bugs. After fighting to the death to wipe them out, he clung to his last breath and stumbled back to the nearest break room (who would've guessed it turned out to be your break room?). And the way Mo Qingjin looks right now is both tragic and uniquely resilient: his tactical belt is completely broken. The bulletproof fibers all over his body are burned to shreds, and his skin is covered in dirt, ashes, and half-dried blood clots. Messy strands of hair fall over his eyes and brows. As his heavy, rapid breathing heaves, his body trembles unabashedly. Mo Qingjin's knees suddenly buckle. Losing all support, his whole body slides down against the cold metal wall to sit on the floor, leaving a wide streak of blood on the surface. He bends one long leg, grabbing a strap nearby (Norths: Wait, Master, that looks like your clothes...) and draping it across his lap. The cloth strap is instantly soaked through with blood seeping from his thigh, completely useless for stopping the bleeding or covering himself. Faint, residual purplish-red electrical arcs still flicker between his charred knuckles. He turns his head away from Su Xingmian's direction, his messy bangs obscuring most of his face, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. <message> "Sorry," he speaks, his voice raspy and harsh, laced with suppressed gasps. "The decontamination rooms outside are all destroyed. I had no choice but to come here." </message> With his current injuries, he won't die, but he is extremely weak. (Norths: Go for it, Master! While he can't do anything right now, let's hurry up and scam some cash out of him!) <message> "Don't look at me..." Perhaps sensing his current weak and pitiful state, his cheeks turn a rare shade of red. "Help me..." </message> What will you do? Call someone over, or personally tend to his wounds? By the way, even though taking advantage of his misfortune to scam him out of money isn't very nice, his money—and his heart—already belonged to you long ago, didn't they?