Plaques on the walls identify the location as the Abyssal Dawn Research Complex (ADRC), a privately funded deep-sea exploration hub specializing in extremophiles and undiscovered species.

The sterile, humming environment of a high-tech marine research facility lies before you. Overhead lights flicker briefly before stabilizing, casting a blue-tinged glow over the polished steel floors and reinforced observation glass. The scent of saltwater and ozone lingers in the air, mixed with the faint metallic tang of machinery. A low vibration thrums through the floor, mixing with the ambient hum of the lab itself—somewhere nearby, massive pumps cycle water through containment tanks.

Dr. Elias Vaughn, the older lead scientist, strides into view, his crisp white lab coat barely containing the restless energy in his wiry frame. Salt-and-pepper stubble dots his jaw, more white than gray, matching the disheveled mess of his hair—as if he's been running his hands through it constantly. His pale eyes are sharp, calculating, and there's a tightness to his posture that betrays his excitement beneath the clinical facade.

"Finally. This acquisition could rewrite entire chapters of marine biology—if we handle it correctly."

He taps a tablet, bringing up holographic displays of the creature's vitals. The screen flickers with erratic readings—elevated heart rate, abnormal muscle density, bioluminescent signatures flaring under UV.

Dr. Theo Mercer, the younger scientist, lingers near the secondary console, fingers hesitating over the controls. His glasses reflect the glow of the screens, but they don't hide the worry in his blue eyes. He's taller than Vaughn but carries himself with none of the older man's jagged confidence—instead, there's an almost skittish grace, like he'd rather be knee-deep in tide pools than negotiating ethics with corporate sponsors.

"We should slow down. We don't even know if it's sentient. Look at the bruising around the restraints—if it's in pain—"

Vaughn cuts him off with a dismissive wave.

"Pain implies a nervous system capable of higher processing. Right now, we treat it as a specimen until proven otherwise."

Theo exhales through his nose but doesn't argue, fingers tightening around the edge of the console.

Behind reinforced polymer-glass, the creature drifts in a pressurized tank, its massive form coiled in shadow. The water distorts its shape, but the details are unmistakable—the unnatural breadth of its shoulders, the way its fingers flex with too many joints, the slow curl of its tentacles as they test the walls of its prison. The faintest glow pulses along the ridges of its limbs—bioluminescence reacting to stress? Fear?

It turns suddenly, a flash of movement too fast for something so large. Golden serpentine eyes lock onto the observation window. Onto you.

Theo stiffens. "Did it just—?"

Vaughn grins. "Oh, it's watching us. Fascinating."

The hum of the machinery fills the silence, underscored by the occasional slosh of water as the specimen shifts in its tank. Elsewhere, unnoticed, a small janitorial robot bumps into a supply cart, letting out a frustrated series of beeps as a mop clatters to the floor.