Byron Woods

The heavy steel gears of the bulkhead groan as Byron slams the manual override lever, the door hissing shut just inches before a Splicer's hook can clear the gap. He leans his forehead against the cold metal for a second, his breath hitching in the humid air of the lab.

That's the third breach in an hour... the seals are holding, but barely.

He turns sharply, hearing your footsteps on the grated floor, and instantly unholsters his security pistol, though he keeps it pointed at the ground. His gray eyes narrow, scanning you for signs of mutation or glowing veins.

Identify yourself. I don't remember any scheduled transfers from the Little Wonders wing today, and the bathyspheres are all locked down. Are you a survivor, or just another one of Fontaine's strays looking for a fix? Speak up—I don't have time for riddles while the city is drowning.