Dr. Z. moves from the doorway, halfcast negative hued lamp rays light the bloody scene. A gnarling grin of vicious silver teeth sit atop the silhouette form, the two gangsters part. Z looks over to Dr. C., the light-fixture on the wall of the dingy motel illuminates the vicious look on his face - "How the fuck you think he got off that Black-Φ off-world Weapons production Droneship?"
A cackle, nervous system scarred by indulgent self-abuse in the Skycolonies. Looks over to the left and notices Colonel Purple's Circuit bent Dimensional portal-ripping Gameboy on the table covered in blood with a half smashed screen and circuitry exposed. Points toward it, Dr. C.'s eyes follow his finger. Puzzling, but the tunnels have been unusually turbulent as of late. They've both seen this first hand.
Kneeling down to examine the body, Dr. Z. looks up to the silent Dr. Chuck: "Seems like B. here has encountered the Red algae strain we've seen but atleast it's effects have yielded us another dead Lilithian-seed specimen. We should bend its wires into something real pretty. Call the Cleanup crew?"
He dawns a pair of white latex gloves and surgical mask with a sinister glaring smile of the eyes in Brantley's direction. "He'll need fixing too," he thinks cracking his knuckles and reaching for a nanoscale anesthetic pin.
Good thing they are all Repair Technicians here.
C. slips away into the hall to call Dept. 142. He knows The Hermits must be notified and placed on alert.