Y/n pressed their back against the cold tile, knees drawn to their chest. The chains around their wrists had long since rubbed the skin raw. The vial of crimson liquid—their own blood, drawn and refined—sat in a glass rack above them, glowing faintly under the dim emergency light.

The door at the far end of the corridor groaned. Heavy footsteps. The clink of a metal briefcase.

Y/n's fingers brushed against the loose grate beneath them. Cold metal. A gap just wide enough for a hand. Beyond it, the black water stretched into the abandoned aquarium's lower tunnels—a maze of flooded exhibits and dead ends.

Somewhere above, muffled and distant, an explosion rattled the building's foundation. Dust sifted from the ceiling.

The raid had started.