"Masterful," she concludes out loud, with a glance at the tight-lipped inmate.

Hours have passed; the skylights' midday glare has seen its dazzle dim, an eerie twilight deepening shadows through The Lab's immense interior. Lamps are lit (turned on by a timer). Sprinklers hiss (dispensing mist). A primal-forest sort of aura shrouds the high-tech apparatus. Birdsong drifts from the next door arbor. Tree frogs klung-klung. Fireflies flit, their luminescence like a spark-shower disappearing/reappearing, shedding bits of blinking brilliance like a brainstorm's lucid flash - the caged menagerie stirred by a vague anticipation. Might her specimens likewise sense the pre-momentous atmosphere, as their jailer flirts with belittling (anatomically) those confined (with none, save one, empowered to raise the least objection)?

Working at a fever pitch, now, preparing an elixir that will serve as genome catalyst and delivery kit combined, the upstart scientist does not eat nor drink nor sleep nor pause to bathe - omissions mimicked by the Bogeyman whom attends her.

NECROMANCER, SORCERESS, WITCH, DUKUN, OCCULTIST, THAUMATURGE... every action of the prodigy calls to mind another term whose arcane origin has been steeped in superstition - Dede's, mainly... though the words are Ade Oya's, broadcast subtly from his jail, with the intention to defame his warden's charge.

LET ME OUT shares equal time with STOP HER, STOP HER, STOP HER as the squirrel attempts to sway the mind of him whose will stands firm, whose job is clear, whose obligation is to safeguard not to hamper - irrespective doubtless mischief Vina hastens to commit, since she is ready to conduct her goop's first trial.