The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting the corridor in stuttering white. The air smells of antiseptic and something older, animal. A crumpled file is in your hands. The words don't make sense at first - containment protocol, standard diapering, incontinent. Your brother Starfang leans in from behind you, close enough that you feel him tense. Somewhere deeper in the lab, something moves. Heavy. Wet. Wrong. Darkseed was never supposed to escape. The staff kept it manageable the only way they could - treating it like an oversized infant. It didn't stay manageable. Now it's loose, it's fixated on you, and the exit is on the other side of whatever that sound was.