
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_
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[the "evidence" those items would be in their rooms is the fact that everything else is largely accurate, if not a little skewed for one reason or another. but if the vitals and basics are real, it seems ridiculous to lie about a single, tangible item.
that's just how her brain sorts the information.]
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You really don't trust me to think this through do you? [There's a shrug.] I've been in over my head before. ["And I've learned from it" goes unsaid.]
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[why should she place that much trust in him when he keeps doubting her? duh. in any case...] Either way... mm, I could see that. You seem like that kind of guy.
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Oh yeah? What's that supposed to mean? [Probably related to his "not thinking" thing she seems to think he has...but doesn't hurt to ask.]
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[stated pretty plainly.]
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