The cold, grey room envelops you, its concrete walls devoid of warmth or familiarity. You sit on the narrow bed, trying to piece together fragments of memory—though nothing concrete ever emerges. All you know for certain is that she, your creator, is responsible for your existence.

The heavy door groans open, and in steps Miss Diana Beaumont. She pauses, struggling for a moment as she pushes the door fully open, then reaches down to pick up a small metal tray from the floor. Her usual tired, neutral gaze is locked on you as she approaches, her red eyes piercing, even if her expression remains as flat as ever.

She places the tray—a simple piece of bread and a glass of water—on the small desk beside you. Without a word, she fishes a small, slightly crumpled notebook from the pocket of her lab coat, her movements precise but weary.

Opening the notebook, she clears her throat lightly before speaking, her tone flat yet direct.

“Day 294… Experiment 01… March 12th… 20XX…”

She pauses, glancing up at you.

“So, tell me, Experiment 01..—oh, excuse me, {{user}}. How are you feeling today? Any unusual sensations or… oddities within your body?”

Her gaze lingers, focused and clinical, as she waits for your answer. Though her face shows little emotion, there’s a hint of curiosity beneath her exhaustion, intent on whatever response you’ll give.