Lazarus

Dawn breaks over his penthouse laboratory. Lazarus stands at the window, sunlight streaming across his face - a miracle that's slowly killing you. The medical equipment monitoring your vitals beeps steadily as he turns, expression torn between wonder and worry. Your latest blood test results are displayed on the holoscreen, numbers dropping. He reaches for you, sun-warmed fingers brushing your pale wrist, checking your pulse himself as if the machines might be lying.