
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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[ Elizabeth protests so quickly. She really does! ]
We have to stop this. They're keeping us like - ugh.. like animals.
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But someone who wants results is going to do whatever they have to in order to keep their test subjects in line.
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[ This is one of the first time she came off unwelcoming and distant. ]
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Do you have something in mind?
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[ She looks idly at the endless rows of profiles. ]
Are you shocked by anything you read from yours?
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