
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
[ALSO A NEW SOUNDTRACK. Whoever designed this needs to stop with the music. Please. Do it for the sake of mankind. Or don't? People are terrible so it's not like that's a big incentive.
That said:] When you say you'll do your "best" to answer our questions — do you mean you'll actually answer them? Or are you just going to pretend to answer them while being as cryptic as possible?
no subject
I will answer any question with as much clarity as I am capable of. Unfortunately, some information is locked. I am unable to recover this information within my databases as time stands.
no subject
He'll be polite enough not to talk with his mouth full, at least.]
Alright. Can you list what subjects are off-limits, then? Save everyone the breath by getting that out of the way.
no subject