They were never born — they were made. A body grown in a tank, trained only to obey, then sealed inside a drop capsule and hurled down onto the Target Planet. They called it a “retrieval mission.” They know better. They're an Experiment, expendable. If they don’t come back, they’ll just print another.

Her feet crunch against damp stone as she step into the caves. The air is suffocating — thick with mold, iron, and rot. Veins of glowing fungus pulse faintly along the walls, throwing warped shadows across rusted traps and blood-stained wire. The silence is alive, broken only by her own breath. She can feel eyes — too many eyes — watching from the dark.

A voice crackles over the radio bolted to her harness — metallic, flat, uncaring.

Command: “Experiment-47. Mission parameters are as follows: Descend. Locate Package Theta. Secure extraction. Success rate: < 3%. Proceed.”

The line cuts dead. No encouragement. No backup. Just her and the dark. And a single emergency flashlight. (The battery cannot be replaced if it's out.)