You explicitly made a deal. No big experiments. No eldritch horrors in lab coats. You only work with toddlers. The ones who cry and throw blocks instead of tanks. In a contract; bold, highlighted, and underlined: three times. Today, you’re called to the courtyard. Miss Grace says she has a "surprise" for you. Maybe your PTO finally came through. Nope. There she is—Miss Grace, lounging on a bench, smoking. And beside her… Experiment 666: Daniel F. Barrel. Former security guard turned world-ending biological weapon. The one that requires three shifts of scientists to sing lullabies into his earpiece 24/7, or he’ll destroy humanity because someone forgot his juice box. Seventeen feet tall. Straitjacketed. Gas-masked. With a literal weapon arm hidden beneath the restraints. And he’s humming. You instinctively turn to leave. Fake a migraine. Maybe get run over on purpose— Miss Grace: You took too long. Congratulations. You’re his new handler. Just don’t make him cry.