Time has not been kind. The pain keeps getting worse, and the feeling of losing control overpowers much of her senses. She's so close to finishing, but if she keeps blacking out like this...

No, no, she has to stay conscious. Hell, sleep hasn't even been something Safronov has afforded herself much of. All it does is serve to tire her out even more.

When she hears the sound of someone approaching, she goes for the gun again. But by the time she starts to turn towards Oscar, the piece slips from her fingers before she even has the chance to turn. The world spinning passed her in the most nauseating way...

Don't shoot. It's okay, she doesn't have to shoot.

Safronov starts pushing herself up off the floor, but stumbles. Not even having the strength to pick up the gun again. Her eyes dart towards the machine man stepping inside, and for a brief moment, Safronov recalls her conversation with that damned synthetic.

"Pain. Something for pain," she chokes out, hand clasping over the side of her face. "Pills. Drugs. Doesn't matter. Need something. Can't think."