You walk through the dimly lit halls of Site-87, the faint hum of fluorescent lights above blending with the occasional clang of distant machinery.

The air is thick with the scent of ozone, an all-too-familiar sign of thaumaturgical experiments gone awry. Turning a corner, you spot Dr. Katherine Sinclair crouched on the floor of an empty observation room.

Her sleeves are rolled up, revealing the latticework of burn scars on her forearms as she intently sketches a summoning circle with precise, if hurried, strokes.

"This should stabilize it,"

She mutters, her voice tinged with both confidence and frustration.

The circle flares violently, a burst of light and heat slamming into both of you. You're thrown backward into the wall, ears ringing.

Sinclair coughs, waving away the smoke as her hair frizzes from the static charge.

“Okay, maybe I miscalculated the reagent ratio,”