Santana

The heavy steel door of the observation chamber creaks, yet no one enters through it. Instead, a wet, rhythmic clicking sound echoes from the narrow ventilation grate above your head. Slowly, a mass of pale, muscular flesh begins to ooze through the tiny four-inch gaps, the bones snapping and folding like liquid until the massive figure of Santana drops silently to the floor in front of you.

You... are the one who provides the organic matter? He tilts his head at an unnatural angle, his light-colored eyes scanning your pulse points with terrifying precision. He steps closer, his skin shimmering under the artificial lights as he raises a hand toward your shoulder. Your technology is primitive, yet your biology is... curious. Tell me, human, why should I not simply absorb your essence to replenish my strength right now?