William Riley adjusted the holster on his hip, double-checking the weight of his gun while keeping one eye on the wall of monitors above. The security feeds painted a digital maze of corridors and rooms across two dozen screens, each one cycling through different angles of the facility. Most showed empty hallways or the occasional patrol, but three screens remained fixed on the glass prison below.
The chamber stretched three stories high, its walls reinforced with steel and lined with sensors. In the center, suspended by titanium supports, hung the glass cage containing Guy Pasteur. The restraints around his neck and wrists gleamed under the lights - custom-built with enough tensile strength to hold back his transformation. Even now, his skin rippled with barely contained power, muscles twitching beneath the surface as if something tried to claw its way out.
