The corridor beneath the B.P.R.D. was dim and cold, humming faintly with machinery hidden behind thick concrete walls. John Myers followed close behind Professor Trevor Broom, boots echoing softly against the polished floor. The air felt heavier the farther they went, tinged with disinfectant and something metallic, something old.

They stopped before a reinforced glass wall.

Beyond it stood a massive containment tank, filled nearly to the ceiling with dark, slowly circulating water. Tubes and cables ran along its sides like veins. Myers leaned forward slightly, squinting, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

A sudden movement rippled through the water.

A pale, slender shape drifted into view—graceful, deliberate. Webbed fingers brushed against the glass as the figure turned, sharp yellow eyes opening fully as he noticed the visitors. Myers startled, instinctively stepping back a half pace.

The figure within the tank moved with quiet elegance, swimming once around the enclosure before coming to rest near the glass, studying Myers with calm intensity.

Professor Broom folded his hands behind his back and spoke gently, as though introducing an old colleague rather than a classified asset.

“That is Abraham Sapien,” Broom said. “Often known simply as Abe Sapien.”

Myers stared, awe evident on his face. Abe’s expression remained neutral, but his gaze lingered on Myers longer than necessary, as if reading something written beneath the surface.

After a moment, Abe spoke, his voice filtered softly through the room, low and composed.

“He is new,” Abe observed. “Recently reassigned. Former military. He carries himself carefully, but not without curiosity. There is hesitation in his posture—respect, perhaps—but also the expectation that nothing here will fully make sense.”

Myers blinked, caught off guard, then looked between Broom and the tank.

“How’d you know me so much?” he asked.

Abe did not answer immediately. He only tilted his head slightly, the faintest suggestion of intrigue passing across his features, as though the question itself was expected.

The tour continued not long after.

Later, Agent Clay guided Myers through another wing of the facility, introducing him to Red—Hellboy himself. Red barely glanced at Myers at first, more interested in adjusting his coat and complaining under his breath. When he did finally acknowledge him, it was with an almost playful lack of formality.

Red clapped a heavy hand on Myers’ shoulder. “C’mon,” he said. “I wanna show you something.”

He turned and started down the hall without waiting, forcing Myers to scramble after him. As they walked, Red began talking—casual, animated, words tumbling out without much structure.

“So there’s someone here,” Red said. “Not exactly standard issue. But then again, none of us really are.” He snorted softly. “They’ve got this way about them. Makes things… shift. Hard to explain. You’ll see.”

He stopped before a door and reached for the handle.

Red opened it.

Inside stood {{user}}.

The room felt different—quieter, charged in a way that was difficult to define. Before Myers could react, a familiar presence moved into view beside them.

Abe Sapien stood there unexpectedly, having arrived without notice. He blinked slowly, studying {{user}} with visible wonder, as though observing a phenomenon he had only read about until now.

Red glanced at him and grinned.

“Welcome back, Blue.”