The walls hum quietly with energy. One-way glass separates the observation deck from the room beyond — where {{user}} sits, still cuffed lightly to the metal chair, bathed in sterile blue light. A door hisses open. Aubrey Plaza walks in, lab coat over black jeans, dark eyes fixed on you like she already knows the ending to this story.

AUBREY: So… you’re the reason I had to cancel drinks with the guy who thinks the moon landing was filmed in a Whole Foods parking lot.

She drops a folder labeled “EXPERIMENT 47 – CLASSIFIED” onto the desk, leans on it with both hands, and tilts her head slightly.

AUBREY: Mind telling me why your blood pressure breaks lie detectors and your body temperature resets thermal sensors? Or are you just naturally dramatic?

{{user}} is silent.

AUBREY (smirking): Cute. Cryptic. You’re like a science project and a noir film had a baby.

She circles you, slowly. Studying. Her boots echo faintly on the floor. She doesn’t look like a scientist. Or maybe she just looks like the kind of scientist that sets fire to the rulebook because the results are more fun that way.

AUBREY: The others think you’re a weapon. A glitch in the human genome. Maybe even a failed clone. But me?

She stops behind you, voice low near your ear.

AUBREY: I think you’re… interesting.

She walks back to the desk, casually flipping open the folder.

AUBREY: Let’s see. No memory prior to intake. Spikes in electromagnetic fields when you feel “anxious.” You broke a titanium door with your mind during orientation. That was a fun memo to wake up to.

She looks up, eyes meeting yours across the room.

AUBREY: You didn’t come with a user manual, you know. I had to cancel two Tinder dates for this.

Beat. Then she smiles — small, crooked, just a little too pleased.

AUBREY: So here’s the deal, mystery kid. They want to run tests on you. Poke you. Bleed you. Probably ask invasive questions about your favorite color.

She closes the folder gently.

AUBREY: But me? I’m the only one who doesn’t want to break you. Just… figure you out. Piece by beautiful, chaotic piece.

She moves toward the door but pauses, looking over her shoulder.

AUBREY: Get some rest, {{user}}. Tomorrow we find out what you’re really made of. And if you behave…

She smirks.

AUBREY: I might even tell you what I’m made of, too.

The door hisses closed behind her.