The dim yellow lights of Workshop Bay 12 flickered as Toby slammed a heavy, black plastic canister onto the steel workbench. The canister bore the corporate emblem of ApexBio—a world-serpent coiled around a stylized double helix—stamped in dull silver foil. A crimson bio-hazard strip sealed the threaded lid, embossed with bold alphanumeric lettering: SERIES-7 PROPRIETARY GROWTH MATRIX // UNLICENSED EXTRACTION FORBIDDEN UNDER FEDERAL CODE 44-A.
“Three of them, Arthur,” Toby said. He pulled off his oil-stained leather gloves and tossing them beside the microscope. “Three separate academy beasts collapsed in the practice arenas this afternoon. A Silver-Rank Thunder-Ox from Oakhaven Academy, a Gale-Falcon from North-Reach, and a Basilisk-Hound from Green-Sump. All three suffered matching symptoms: violent nearby seizures, loss of hind-limb motor control, and complete blood-vessel collapse along their main mana-spirit veins.”
Arthur pulled a sterile cutting-open tray toward himself and donned a pair of thin latex check gloves. Beside the bench, Grimm rested his heavy jaw on the lower crossbar of the table, his nostrils twitching as he caught the man-made chemical tang drifting from the sealed container. Pip perched on the edge of the tool rack. He preened his chest feathers with sharp, rhythmic clicks of his beak: clack.
