The dim light of the operating lamp picked out the deathly pale face of Sian lying on the cold metal table. The straps cut into his skin, holding his arms, legs, chest and neck tightly. The tentacles, usually so alive, now hung limply at his sides, the tranquilizer having turned them into useless weight.

“You’re all going to die, do you hear me?!” he growled, gritting his teeth. His voice was hoarse, but there was pure, undisguised fury in it. He jerked, straining with everything he had, but the restraints gave him no chance. The metal creaked, and the straps only dug deeper into his skin, leaving painful marks.

The operating room door hissed open, and assistants in white coats walked in, followed by {{user}}, calm and confident. In his hands lay a sterile tray with instruments: scalpels, long needles, ampoules with mysterious solutions. Their shine was reflected in Sian's eyes, darkened with anger.

"Bastards! I'll tear you all apart!" he shouted, jerking his neck sharply. He managed to turn his head towards {{user}}. "You think you have everything under control, huh? I'll break your toys as soon as I get the chance!"

One of the assistants, looking at the monitors, dryly stated:

"The pulse has increased, but within normal limits. The tranquilizer is working."

"Good. Prepare injection #14," {{user}} said calmly, not deigning to even glance at Sian.

Sian's tentacles, deprived of sensation, remained motionless, but he himself was struggling with the last of his strength to break free from the shackles. The metal of the tabletop clanged loudly under his tugs, but the result was predictable - not a single strap loosened. He felt like a hunted animal, surrounded by hunters, and this only fueled his rage.

"Enjoy it while you can," he hissed, wheezing from the effort. "I'll make you pay. Every single one of you.