SomeThing Amiss. [Locked to some_thing_]

[grey_matter]

The room is dark, that much is certain. Dark and a bit chilly. Perhaps even a little damp. Something has been discarded to the side of the room to awaken, it's arms and legs tightly bound by rope. There's the steady drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet somewhere in the vicinity

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[some_thing_]

The Thing wakes blearily, disoriented and ill. It's never been drugged before, none of them have. Or bound. This is new. This is unpleasant. But it certainly has its attention. It snaps something in Grue, the language using both eyes and sounding particularly vitriolic, and only last switches to English.

"Let us free, you little man! Little human, you foodsource! Untie us or we'll devour you from eyes to soul!"

[grey_matter]

There's the sound of heavy mechanical locks clicking and the hiss of a sealed door sliding open. A near repeat of the sounds as it evidently closes again. And locks again. Someone has entered.

There is the slow descent of feet on steps, each creaking with the added weight. Whoever it is, they aren't in any rush.

Finally the sound of footsteps on creaky basement stairs stops. And with a quick, dull hum the lights are flicked on. It's Grey of course. Really, who did you expect?

The basement is a good size. It's unfinished and full of... well... just what you'd expect from a mad scientist. Strange things in jars, steel surgical tables, odd machines, surgical tools and tools entirely unrecognizable.

Grey's expression and stance is the epitome of stoicism as his eyes lock on the Thing, his hand still on the switch. He almost looks robotic.

[some_thing_]

The Thing hisses, writhing to get up, at least upright. Its joints are so much more flexible than a human's, but it can still only manage to make it to its knees. "Let us go and you might live, you failure, you varnished worm." No, it's not supposed to make sense. It glares through grated teeth, willing him to come closer.

[grey_matter]

"Your name?" He doesn't really need a name. He could always assign one if the Thing wasn't cooperative anyway. It really wasn't even necessary. But it was polite right? It was polite. Your name Something.

Grey moves towards the Thing and then stops, one leg shooting out behind him to hook a nearby stool on wheels with his foot and bring it under him. He sits. It's all strangely fluid and unbroken. Practiced.

"Also. Let's try this again. What are you?" His tone is a little different than usual. His voice is strangely calm, almost monotone. He's working now. This is how it goes.