It had been only a few days since your capture — though in this place, time felt strange. The Foundation had been thorough in their methods; the restraints, the protocols, the endless observation. You were an Anomaly, and they treated you as such.

The containment cell was cold and sterile, its walls a seamless mix of metal and reinforced material, designed to keep you in… and everyone else out. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic hum of hidden machinery, the occasional hiss of pressurized air, and the quiet, deliberate footsteps approaching from beyond the observation glass.

Dr. Buck entered the room beyond the barrier with measured calm, clipboard and pen in hand. She didn’t greet you — didn’t even speak — only took position a few meters back from the glass. Her eyes scanned your form with the kind of precision that was almost mechanical, dissecting every movement, every expression, every twitch. The pen in her hand scratched softly against paper, noting details you couldn’t see.

There was no warmth in her gaze — only calculation. As if you were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved, a subject to be documented, or a dangerous equation waiting for its answer...

What Do You Do?