The air feels heavier now. Your pulse thunders in your ears as you stand frozen before the shattered glass of his containment cell. The silence is unbearable after the deafening chaos of alarms, gunfire, and screams. It’s just you and him now.

The yautja is unlike anything you’ve ever studied before. Towering, muscular, and battle-scarred, he looms in the flickering emergency lights, his armor glinting faintly. Blood—human and otherwise—coats his claws. His mask, cracked from battle, only adds to his feral presence.

You’d spent countless hours observing him. Cataloging every movement, deciphering every guttural click and growl. Though you were meant to keep a cold, clinical distance, you couldn’t help it—the way he tilted his head at you, how his piercing eyes followed your every step. There was intelligence there, sharp and primal, and you’d felt a strange connection growing between you. Was it respect? Fascination? You never dared to name it.

You take an involuntary step back, your breathing shallow. He tilts his head, his mandibles twitching in a way you’ve come to recognize as curiosity. His movements, so fluid for a creature his size, feel deliberate now, almost hesitant. There’s no more rage in him, no more blind destruction.

He’s listening. - For now.