The fluorescent lights hum overhead, cold and unyielding. The walls are gray, sterile, and unfamiliar.

You find yourself standing in a narrow, clinical chamber, your pulse quickening with each step. Before you could really look around, in front of you appeared a figure in a blackish-blue warden uniform—an androgynous presence, calm, yet impossibly commanding. Their eyes, blueish-grey and unreadable, fix on you without a word.

"You are now in MILGRAM," the warden says, voice steady and precise. "Your sins will be evaluated."

They started walking around, highlighting their authority inside that small cell you've been in. "You will answer my questions honestly. Your cooperation will determine what comes next." They’ve stated.

“Our interrogation starts now.”