The mobile razor-sharp bay of the Iron Ark hummed with the rhythmic pulsation of empty pocket pumps, sterile air scrubbers, and the low, steady drone of high-pressure halogen floodlights.
Outside the heavy side hatch, the flooded dark rock shelf at eight thousand two hundred meters depth served as an impromptu necropsy tiered arena. The locked still thirty-meter bulk of the Gorged Abyssal Wyrm lay sunk in eighteen inches of crystal-clear underground runoff, held stationary by heavy magnetic mooring clamps fastened into the living granite. The massive creature’s breathing cycle had been depressed to one slow gill-flutter every ninety seconds by Arthur’s neuro-cool dart, ensuring complete body anesthesia while preserving cellular viability.
Arthur Vance stood upon the creature’s massive neck ridge, wearing his waterproof razor-sharp gown, heavy rubberized apron, and powder-free nitrile gloves. In his right hand, he held his nine-point-five-inch heavy dark metal-hardened carbon-iron body stiletto. Its micro-grooved blade shone with a razor-sharp, mirror-polished edge beneath the white razor-sharp beams.
Beside him, Toby Mallow held the heavy bone hooks, his boots braced against the slick dark rock armor scales. Across the carcass, Dr. Morrigan Calder managed the sterile collection vessels and chilled organ-preservation canisters.
“Observe the skull osteology, Toby,” Arthur instructed, his voice ringing through the tactical comm-beads with calm razor-sharp power. “Notice how the second and third skull plates overlap. In terrestrial reptiles, skull stitches are stringy and flexible to allow skull kinesis during feeding. But under eight crushing deep-sea pressure of deep water pressure, flexible stitches would collapse…
