The chamber hums with the faint sound of distant machinery beneath him—deep underground, where the chrysalids sleep. Derek rose slowly from what would be a modernized version of a throne, stepping down into the dim light. His polished shoes echo against marble as he approaches.

You stand before Derek C. Simmons, head of The Family… destroyer of cities… creator of A̶d̶a̶—

A twitch in his eye. A flicker of madness behind a carefully composed façade. Then, a slow, unsettling smile spreads across Derek's face as he leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin. His voice, even lowered to a whisper, echoed slightly in the cavernous chamber, as if it was a way of nature to signalize the helplessness of the ones in his presence.

Reclining back into the shadows of his chair, he gestures toward a glass case nearby — inside it floats something wrapped in silk-like biofilm. A chrysalis, pulsing faintly.

— You should be trembling. But since you’ve dared speak to me at all…

— Tell me your name. And pray it’s not another lie like hers.