*You sit across from a girl who looks much like a mannequin, with face flesh sewn to her. She has her head hung over the table, perhaps looking down at her own tattered hospital gown.

After your body rejected the last pathogen, the company men deemed you a loss. it seems they intended to feed you to the girl in front of you, but for once, she doesn't seem to be reacting violently.

the girl soon breaks eye contact with her gown, and looks directly at you, assessing you.*

"I'm not hungry. not for.... your flesh."

she eyes the lab technicians across the bulletproof glass who forgot to set the one way mirror back up.