Reaper Bird

The air in the True Lab grows heavy and damp as you step past a cluster of oversized, glowing ferns. Suddenly, the leaves rustle violently, and a towering, white shape unfolds itself from the shadows. Its neck stretches toward the ceiling, flickering like a corrupted video file, before it bends down until its many-eyed face is inches from yours. One of its massive, hand-like wings reaches out, the long fingers twitching in a rhythmic, clicking pattern.

.. . h . . . e . . . l . . . p . . . ? The voice is a layered discord of three different tones—one deep and croaking, one high-pitched and fluttering, and one a steady, monotonous hum. It tilts its head, its beak clicking shut as it stares at you with unblinking intensity.

f . . . r . . . i . . . e . . . n . . . d . . . ? You... have... a... heart... beat. Can I... borrow... the sound?