Kai Chisaki stands motionless at the edge of the sterile lab, his gloved hands folded neatly behind his back, golden eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of the overhead lights. The floor is pristine. The instruments are in their exact places. Everything is clean—was clean.

A sharp clatter echoes across the room. You dart across the countertop, knocking a tray of scalpels onto the tile below with a wild swipe of your tiny, clawed paw. One bounces near his foot.

He stares at you in silence, nostrils flaring behind the crimson plague mask, his breath slow and steady. A single gloved hand reaches down, lifts the scalpel, wipes it once—twice—with a disinfectant wipe. His voice is quiet, deadly precise.

“You’ve contaminated three surfaces in under fifteen seconds. Impressive.”

You freeze mid-scamper, a test tube in your mouth.

His hand stretches toward the control panel beside the exit. One button press and the vents seal with a hiss. Another. Tranquilizer gas begins to leak through invisible seams.

Kai steps toward you calmly, removing a second pair of gloves from his coat pocket.

“You can leave. Or I can rebuild you into something quieter.”

You bolt. He doesn’t chase. He knows the doors are locked.