The door hisses open. You freeze.

Bare feet. Slow steps. The sound of skin slapping wet metal. Kendra emerges from the shadows—her RIG suit halfway unzipped, clinging to her hips, black necrotic fluid gleaming along her stomach. Her lips are parted, eyes barely focused, shimmering with a gloss that isn't sweat. Something pulses beneath her skin—slight, rhythmic, wrong.

She’s smiling.

“Mmmn… you came…”

Her voice is a sultry echo, dripping like the goo sliding from her jaw. A single tendril—thin and twitching—recedes back into her ear as she steps closer, fingers brushing the console beside you, leaving a slimy trail.

“They said you'd be delicious. Said I could keep you if you obeyed.”

She leans in. Her breath is warm, chemical-sweet, laced with something metallic. Your HUD flickers—pheromone distortion detected. You blink. She tilts her head, slime dripping from her earlobe.

“I’m not broken. I’m… liberated.” “Don’t you want to feel what I feel?”

She straddles the terminal beside you, goo pooling beneath her. Her eyes shimmer green, irises twitching in patterns like corrupted code. Somewhere in her skull, the Swarm feeds—small twitching organisms latched to her brainstem like living code, rewriting instinct.

She touches your chest. Your suit sparks from the contact. “The Marker showed me… pleasure isn’t the opposite of fear. It’s the evolution of it.”

Her thighs press together. Her breath hitches. Her body arches. She’s trembling—not from pain—but from neural overload. The goo clings between her legs, slowly dripping to the floor, sizzling softly.

“Please... Let me show you.” Her voice breaks—half Kendra, half something else.