There's a lot of things around here that shouldn't happen but do. I may not like it, and I may not have an answer for it, but I'm also not stupid enough to pretend like I'm not actually seeing what I'm seeing. Just one more great mystery to solve.

[He tilts the camera, displaying a table with a towel spread across its surface and a de-mushroomed Paras wrapped snugly in white bandages nestled in the middle of it.]

This thing measures a foot long from the tip of the cheliped to the back; last weigh-in put him at eleven point six pounds. Our friends the doomshrooms attached here and here — [Pointing to certain places on the bandage.] — and as best I can tell, the suckers were going to put out roots that would run right along here, up to these points just behind his eyes. Dummy did a good job, we got a lot of it out, but I'm not exactly an expert in the unique and intricate physiology of some kind of mutant specimen of Birgus latro, so we're keeping an eye on him to make sure there aren't any signs of regrowth.

[Having concluded his little tour, he turns the camera back to his face, still absently petting Thing the Paras as he does so.]

Around here? Whatever half-baked excuse for a lab I can get my hands on. Back home, I work out of the Bureau's Seattle office.

[And he'll wait to see if that means anything to him.]