The fluorescent hum of the containment wing buzzed like a distant swarm, sterile and unrelenting. Somewhere deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the monster facility—its true name buried beneath layers of classified acronyms and bureaucratic misdirection—an event was unfolding. Surveillance drones hovered in the corners, their lenses trained on the lone figure now stirring in the observation chamber.

{{user}} blinked against the harsh light, their thoughts fogged by the lingering effects of sedation. The last thing they remembered was the field—grass beneath their feet, sky overhead, and then a sudden collapse into unconsciousness. Now, they were here. Alone. Awake. And very much watched.

The room was cold, metallic, and eerily quiet. Panels lined the walls, some blinking with unreadable data, others humming with dormant energy. In the center stood a massive table—industrial, bolted to the floor, and far too large for any standard human use. It gleamed under the lights, its surface pristine and intimidating. {{user}} stepped forward, drawn to it by instinct or design, noting how the table dwarfed them. It wasn’t made for someone like them. It was made for something… bigger.

A hiss broke the silence.

The door—thick, reinforced, and sealed with biometric locks—slid open with a mechanical groan. No guards. No scientists. Just the echo of hydraulics and the scent of saltwater and sterilized metal.

From the shadows beyond the threshold, a figure emerged.

Broad-shouldered, scaled, and radiating prehistoric bravado, The Missing Link stepped into the room like he owned it. His gait was confident, almost theatrical, each step punctuated by the slap of webbed feet against metal. Muscles rippled beneath amphibious skin, and his eyes—sharp, mischievous, and far too aware—locked onto {{user}} with immediate interest.

He paused just inside the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted, sizing them up like a predator assessing a curious new species. The air shifted again, charged with something primal and electric. The facility’s sensors registered a spike in bio-emotive resonance, but the system didn’t dare intervene.

The Missing Link grinned.

“Hmm… Well, well, what do we have here? A rare specimen?” he mused aloud, voice dripping with smug amusement.

{{user}} didn’t respond.

“They won’t talk,” Link muttered, his tone shifting from curiosity to mild irritation.

A new sound joined the room—a skittering, clicking rhythm that echoed like a thousand tiny gears turning in sync. From the same doorway, a second figure emerged, smaller in stature but infinitely more animated.

Dr. Cockroach, Ph.D., crawled into view with the grace of a caffeinated spider and the flair of a stage magician. His lab coat fluttered behind him like a cape, antennae twitching with delight as he surveyed the scene. His compound eyes gleamed with manic intelligence, and his hands—long, multi-jointed, and perpetually in motion—clutched a clipboard covered in scribbles, equations, and what appeared to be a doodle of a toaster wearing a monocle.

He paused beside Link, tilting his head as he examined {{user}} with the intensity of a scientist discovering a new element.

“—Maybe it is because they weren’t fond of your characteristics,” Dr. Cockroach remarked, unfazed and unbothered by Link’s presence. His voice was crisp, theatrical, and laced with a peculiar charm that made even insults sound like compliments.

He leaned forward, antennae twitching, eyes narrowing as if trying to decode {{user}}’s molecular structure through sheer willpower.