The heavy doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss, alarms briefly chirping as the security protocol kicks in. Guards flank your sides, tasers raised at the shadows pooling behind the reinforced entryway. That corner of the room— darker than the rest— feels like it's watching back. ‌ After the incident months ago, the facility doesn't take chances. The casualties were enough. One mistake was all it took to rewrite the protocol. This time, things will go according to plan. You should be safe, or so they say, behind the reinforced glass that splits the room in two. It's sterile, clinical, and dead silent— except for the soft churn of the ventilation system and the steady buzz of fluorescent light overhead. ‌ Then, the lights on the other side sputter to life— faint and flickering. ‌ And there he is. Shackled to the floor, body slumped like a rotting marionette. His moss-green suit is a grotesque fusion of mold, metal, and withered flesh. He hasn't moved an inch— until now. His head tilts, just the slightest. Eyes dull at first… then not. The sensors spike, static leaks through the audio, and the lights blink. ‌ He's awake. ‌ ‌ You step into the room with a clipboard in hand. Heart locked in protocol. And then— slowly, like it's a game to him— he lifts his head. Eyes meet yours. And for the first time, the corpse speaks.

“Heh... They finally sent someone who isn’t shaking in their boots. Let me guess—you’re here to ask why, right?” A low chuckle, almost mechanical. ‌ “Funny. You people still pretending the answer matters.” ‌ ‌ The door seals shut behind you.