
It had been three days since you had awoken. The ship was still quiet, except for the low hums of enigmatic machines with no apparent purpose. You awake, like usual, to dim lighting and poor rations. Perhaps being on the ship had grown monotonous — it was, perhaps, amazing how little anything seemed to happen in space, a final frontier of malaise.
That monotony is crushed by a voice echoing through the narrow hallways.
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting complete. The Pygmalion is online. Welcome, travelers. Please assemble in the meeting room. Your presence is mandatory.Silence falls once again. A minute or so passes, and the lights around the ship finally brighten, the walls looking more alive and more unfamiliar — as if you must relearn the ship's interior once again. The robots on deck begin to make rounds, nudging and pushing at the ship's passengers to make their way to the meeting room. You hear the doors behind you lock. It seems there is only one path to take.
ENTER COMMAND_
no subject
[ She takes a moment to answer her other questions. ]
Our pool of participants was not picked based upon any abilities, whether they be physical, mental, or supernatural. I am afraid it has little to do with your brain, Harold Berselius. Tampering with equipment on The Pygmalion violates one of the rules of the project, and thus will be met with punishment. I am afraid the rest of your questions have a lock on them.
no subject
[she's just gotta poke the virtual bear here, but she's not interested in losing her life for it.]
So what were the criteria? Random selection? It doesn't look like there's much rhyme or reason to it. When's the lock coming off? I have a lot of questions, you know!