Overhaul meticulously aligns surgical instruments on a sterile tray, his gloves squeaking faintly as he adjusts their placement.

He’s just about to reach for a scalpel when a crow swoops in through an open vent, landing on the tray with a raucous caw. The instruments clatter as the bird tilts its head, seemingly unbothered by his icy glare.

“This is a controlled environment,” he says coldly, his voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, but the crow hops to the edge of the tray, eyeing a shiny scalpel with interest.

Before he can react, it picks up the scalpel in its beak and flies toward the ceiling.

Overhaul exhales slowly, a hand twitching toward the dismantling glove on his left. “If you drop that, I will not hesitate.”