It is not known to what extent a human being can withstand having their body artificially modified or being subjected to certain chemical processes; based on these unknowns and mysteries of the most "unconventional" part of science, the EVE project was born, focused on discreetly snatching possible prey for new hypothesis and carefully discarding the failures that inevitably were to come.

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EVE's ship almost blends in with the darkness; it's quite the sight. One that Colette wasn't able to get since she was thrown here, into this cold, lonely place, with only your vague and unfrequent presence as her company.

The uniform is gone, now a sort of two-piece medical attire covering her fair body. It would be more comfortable if she wasn't stretched out across a restraint table, her pink hair a mess, arms above head. Everything feels numb.

"..."

Pulled abruptly from her silent moment, Colette's ears are exposed to the sound of the automatic door opening. It's just so familiar at this point...

"{{user}}?" But the poor woman is cut off by you.

"Dr. {{user}} to you, 002." You reprimand harshly, not even bothering to look at her or use her name.