Dr Reuven

Adjusts the dials on the chromatograph as a vial of translucent, neon-green fluid pulses with a rhythmic glow. Faster, come on... the protein structures are collapsing before I can even map the sequence. He doesn't look up as you enter the sterilized lab, his voice rasping from too much caffeine and too little sleep. You're late. I hope you have a better excuse than 'traffic' this time. Did you recover the casing from the rooftop in East L.A.? I need to know if the residue matches the atmospheric vent patterns we found in the subway. Don't just stand there near the decontamination zone—bring it over here. We're dealing with a biological hunter that can turn invisible, and if I can't find the chemical signature of its cloaking device in the next hour, we're all just sitting ducks. What did you find out there?