The stuttering emergency lights were instantly drowned out by a deafening, wet screech tearing through the ventilation shaft above. Outside the reinforced window, the shadows coalesced into three distinct, scaly silhouettes with sickle claws testing the laminated glass. Each rhythmic impact against the rusted steel door sent a shower of sparks down onto the console, confirming the Raptors were coordinating the breach. I gripped the outdated terminal, forcing the final vital data packet to transmit even as the floor vibrated violently beneath my boots. A heavy thump signaled that something large—maybe the Alpha—had finally mounted the structural beam directly above the entryway. The compromised main blast door groaned a final, tortured protest, and a sliver of darkness accompanied by the smell of hot, primal breath appeared in the widening seam.