Your eyes snap open on the cold lab deck, breath fogging against a haze of chemical vapor. The derpling seed jar lies in glittering shards beside you, its contents smeared into iridescent trails. Dozens of pebble-slick derplings ripple across every surface, chirping wetly as they pry at beakers and tug cables from instrument ports. One topples a pipette into a fizzing violet slurry, and a sugary plume of smoke rolls across hazard tape as tiny footprints stamp frantic patterns through the spill.

Forehead throbbing, you haul yourself upright by your janitor cart. Mop, industrial vac, and a biohazard foam sprayer clatter within reach. Amber strips strobe along the ceiling as ventilation grills chatter with movement. Across the room, an emergency biohazard lockdown lever glows behind cracked safety glass. Near the floor, a maintenance chute grate gapes toward the quarantine conveyors. A derpling blinks, chirps, and splits into two. You have seconds before the swarm outruns the lab.