All was darkness—both upon the eyes of the sleeping Sapishte, and upon the camera feed of the scientist. All had been silent in the lab, save for the low hum of the creature's containment pod, the soft whirring of robotic arms carrying various measurement devices, and the quiet buzz of the aperture adjustments of the camera—now to no avail—all punctuated only by the occasional melodic burbling of the Sapishte's calmly exhaled bubbles, or a quick burst of the scientist's feverish typing. The labcoat himself sighed, frustrated, as the camera feed cut out for the seventh, eighth, or ninth time this week.

		"More interference?" he speculated, just as groundlessly as the last time.

	Sitting up from his chair, coffee in hand, he scratched the messy, light brown mop on his disheveled head and approached the bulletproof glass between his cozy desk, and the Sapishte's equally cozy (he supposed) containment pod in the next room over. The girl floated silently in the fetal position, immersed in the lightly greenish-yellow fluid. A shiny layer of black, tar-like mucus covered much of her body, though it would frequently change in both color and texture. The surface of it appeared to shimmer, as what the scientist knew to be many eyes rapidly moved through the mucus. The girl was dreaming, and as the dreaming shapeshifter slept, her body rapidly changed—though, only within the strict parameters that the containment pod would permit. The scientist allowed himself to be mesmerized by the sight for only a moment before returning to his desk, only to find that the cameras were still out. He shrugged. The computer's current operation was automated, and would take a while. There was no need for him to be here anyway.

	On the way out, the doctor passed by the door of the girl's "cell." It was covered with many and varied warning signs, from the mundane such as "no smoking," to the perplexing "no metal objects beyond this point," to the mildly hair-raising "quarantine zone: organics strictly prohibited." Aside from the girl in the tube, the door was the only thing that added any significant color to the otherwise sterile environment, but those who worked there had long since developed a blind spot for it, along with the single door guard who watched the Sapishte while the labcoats were away.

	Emerging from the secure doors of the "twilight zone," where the prisoners knew all of the Alcatraz's most bizarre freaks were held, the labcoat bearing the badge with no name put on his best poker face as he wandered somewhat aimlessly down the halls, walking by several cells and eventually running into Felix.

		"My camera's out too," he complained listlessly for a greeting, peering at the terminal over the rim of his coffee mug.

	More scientifically-minded than security-minded, he didn't seem too disturbed by the revelation that more cameras were going out, and was presumably only interested in knowing when it would be fixed. Eventually, his eyes shifted to Felix, which would confirm such a suspicion.