The team secured the containment box with meticulous care, ensuring there was no chance for the creature to escape. Locks were double-checked, seals inspected, their movements swift and precise from years of practice. George stood watch, his face taut with concentration. “Check every latch. No mistakes,” he ordered firmly. From her chair, Martha observed, her heart pounding in her chest. “Is it really safe?” she asked, her voice wavering. A team member glanced her way and offered a reassuring nod. “We’ve got it under control,” they replied. But the flicker of doubt in their eyes told Martha otherwise.
The Team Locked
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Martha watched
Martha watched, still shaken, as the team finalized the containment process. They moved the box to a secure location in the kitchen, setting up additional precautions. “We need to monitor it,” George said, directing the team. Martha’s eyes never left the box. She felt a mix of relief and lingering fear. “What now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. George sighed, looking at her with a mixture of empathy and concern. “Now, we figure out what this is.”
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