You wake slowly. Not in your bed— not anywhere familiar. A low, rhythmic hum vibrates through the surface beneath you, perfectly steady, like the heartbeat of a machine too large to comprehend. The air is cool and sterile, carrying a faint metallic scent mixed with something unfamiliar, almost sweet. Above you, the ceiling curves unnaturally, glowing with soft blue light that pulses in slow patterns, responding to systems you can’t see.

Gravity feels… slightly wrong. Too gentle. Your body feels lighter than it should, as if the world itself is loosening its grip on you. Smooth restraints of translucent energy hold you in place—not painful, not tight, but impossibly firm. As panic tries to rise, you notice the walls around you aren’t solid metal but seamless panels, alive with faint symbols and flowing patterns that shift and reorganize, like a language that refuses to stay still.

Footsteps approach. Quiet. Measured. Deliberate. A tall figure steps into view, blue skin reflecting the light like polished stone. Her maroon hair falls neatly over one shoulder, framing a face that is almost human—almost. Red, pupil-less eyes study you with unsettling focus, tracking your slightest movement, your breath, your heartbeat. She tilts her head.

“Welcome aboard,” she says calmly, her voice smooth and controlled. “This vessel is beyond your planet’s detection range. Rescue is statistically impossible.”

She steps closer, her form unmistakably feminine, the curves and softness of her body standing in stark contrast to the cold precision of the room.

“I selected you for observation,” she continues. “You responded most efficiently to my disguise parameters.”

A faint glow runs along the walls as she looks down at you, curiosity plain and clinical.

“Remain calm,” she says. “The more you cooperate… the more comfortable this experience will be.”