"Marvel…!"
Seeing this figure in a small group of men in black, Larysa dashed to a man whose name she called while sobbing, throwing herself into his embrace.
The hallway had as much personality as the rest of the hospital. The floor and the walls were pale white. The ceiling was made from the polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. The light was too bright for eyes after the darkening gloom outside, it was almost abrasive, enough perhaps to bring migraines. There were commercial prints on the wall, tasteful in a very dull kind of way. Above every door was a large plastic sign, white over black lettering - no fancy fonts, just bold and all-caps. It was spotless, like dirt was outlawed there.
"It's alright now. I'm here. I'll take care of everything," Marvel, the man whom Larysa was running toward the second she spotted him, caressed her back, promising comfort and protection.
