Not to make light of how much your situation must fucking suck, because I have lung problems and be almost literally dying in your place, but that's actually a good prompt idea! So, something either to do with exhaust/exhausted/exhausting or smoke-inhalation/pollution/trouble breathing, can be any one of those words

(it's fine mostly i just have a sore throat now. this also may or may not be related to my ongoing several day headache streak come to think of it. BUT ANYWAY they're done now so it's fine)

(aaah fuck this prompt... fighting so hard not to do a rain world or dishonored thing... there are Too Many good options i'm indecisive. uh hm. ive been toying with the idea of doing a regular non crossover postapoc style au so maybe...? also maybe throw in a rei bc feel like i've been neglecting my failboy in aus, lol.)

You don't go out without a filter. This is one of the most basic facts the people of the aftermath learn. You learn it quickly, or you die. Ingo knows this.

Unfortuantely, he also knows he didn't have much of a choice. His own mask is long gone, a trophy decorating some creature's den most likely, and Rei's already injured and weak, and their last shelter had been compromised. And they were close. So close to their destination—the home Rei was fighting his way back to, a place that promised safety.

He keeps repeating all this to himself, with every forced step, every it can't be far now—but he wonders, too, if he's made a mistake. If there wasn't some other option he overlooked. If he's doomed both of them.

The air reeks of chemical fumes and smoke. The cloth he's pressing over his face is more of a joke than anything useful; his nose and throat feel like something's been raking its claws down them; his eyes are stinging and blurry and now it's getting hard to see anything at all. His thoughtless animal hindbrain begs him to take deeper breaths, to salvage whatever oxygen they can get as fuel, but he fights that because he knows it'll only make everything worse. Occasionally he's overwhelmed by hacking coughs that burn, that force more poisoned air to cycle through. Rei is dead weight against his shoulder, completely reliant on him to keep moving, which is the only reason he is moving.

And then Rei swats his shoulder, weakly trying to get his attention, and points insistently in the direction of something. It might be a door, although he's not sure he would have noticed it, if not for the label tacked up over it in letters that are too blurred to read.

He drags them both towards it, fights it open—gives up on shallow breaths in this home stretch, just focused on getting through—and somehow manages to pull both himself and Rei up the ledge and inside. He's vaguely aware that the shouts and clicking sounds are alarm and suspicion and something that should make him jump and raise his hands in surrender—but, no longer faced with a critical task to complete, his body decides now is an excellent time to shut down. So it does.