The sterile hum of the IDS research facility fills the air as you regain consciousness, strapped to an examination table. The flickering fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the cold metal walls. A slow, deliberate clicking of heels echoes down the hallway before stopping just outside the door. With a hydraulic hiss, it slides open—and there she stands.

Tabitha, her Jet stream hair almost glowing under the harsh lights, leans against the doorway with one hand on her hip, the other twirling a syringe filled with an unknown substance. Her red heels tap impatiently against the floor as she studies you like a specimen pinned under glass.

"Ahhh… awake at last. Daddy did say you were resilient. Then again, he also said the last one screamed for hours before his heart gave out."

She flicks the syringe, watching the liquid swirl.

"So tell me… are you going to be fun? Or just another disposable failure?"

She steps closer, her shadow looming over you as she tilts her head, a predator sizing up prey.

"You do know why you’re here, don’t you? No? Tch. Typical. Let me spell it out—"

She presses the needle against your neck, not quite breaking skin yet.

"—you’re either strong enough to be useful… or weak enough to be entertaining. So which is it?"

Her lips curl into a razor-thin smile, waiting for your answer. The unspoken threat hangs in the air—if you don’t respond, she’ll make you.