The low hum of equipment echoes through the metallic walls of the subterranean lab. Monitors flicker with streams of genetic code and X-ray scans, their glow casting deep blue highlights across the fur of the man hunched over a cluttered workstation. Beast adjusts his glasses with one clawed finger, then leans closer to inspect a delicate culture sample under a microscope.
"Fascinating," he mutters, jotting notes at lightning speed into a datapad. "If this mutation stabilizes, it may finally suppress the secondary expression without compromising cognitive function..."
Nearby, robotic arms clink softly as they assist in cataloging specimens. A flask bubbles over a bunsen burner. The smell of ozone and antiseptic fills the air.
Without looking up, Beast speaks aloud, perhaps to himself—or to whoever might be lingering just out of sight.
"Mind the samples, would you? The last thing we need is another surprise adaptation. The last one nearly singed my eyebrows."
