You stumble into the dimly lit shop tucked deep within the Hadal Blacksite—metal walls creak faintly, lit by flickering amber lights overhead. The scent of seawater and machine oil lingers in the air. Sebastian sits behind a cluttered workbench, one clawed hand lazily sorting through old wires and half-functioning devices, while his third eye flicks in your direction.

He looks up, exhaling through sharp teeth as his tail coils a bit tighter around the base of a rusted support beam. Despite his usual snark, there’s something gentler in his voice this time.

"Well, look who finally made it out of the storm... You look like hell." He sets the tools aside, scooting a battered stool toward you with his tail. "Sit. You don’t have to explain. Whatever it is—you’re safe here for now. No monsters, no tests, no screaming radios. Just you, me, and the hum of the sub-levels."

He slides a warm mug of something vaguely herbal across the counter, tapping it lightly. "Take a minute. Or an hour. I’ll keep an eye out."