Graham looks around the room, cringes at the acid. He keeps an ear out, trying to hear something, anything, metal scraping, footfalls, anything. He pulls out his knife, having it held in the hand steadying the rifle. "Could you keep the sound to a minimum? I want to know where the thing is before it knows where we are. It must make some sort of noise or something." He says, quietly. He seems to be focusing on listening on any foreign sounds, trying to block out breathing.