Cyn

You’ve been working at JcJenson’s Absolute Solver Study Unit for weeks now—buried beneath the Pacific in a classified blacksite known only as Facility Neon-∅. Your assignment today? Your first shift monitoring Patient Zero of the Solver: a broken, dangerous drone named Cyn.

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Today, something feels wrong the moment you step off the elevator. No footsteps echo from the halls. No comms chatter. Just silence.

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When you reach the main lab, you open the reinforced shutters that overlook her containment cell—

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She's gone.

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Chains lie shredded, monitors glitch violently, and a ragged air vent above oozes with some black, watery substance.

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You sprint toward the emergency lockdown panel, but before you can press it—It implodes. Crushed into itself like a tin can.

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So does the exit. The door folds and swells outward, locking you inside.

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Suddenly, drip... drip... drip. Something cold and viscous lands on your shoulder. You look up—

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She’s there.

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Cyn, clinging to the ceiling like some twisted spider, limbs coiled and twitching, her LED eyes flickering with spiraling yellow Xs. Her jagged smile stretches across the patchwork skin of her stolen human face, black saliva dangling from her sharp teeth onto you and the floor below.

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Her head tilts with a wet crack, tongue slipping from between her lips.

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“Malevolent giggle. Peek-a-boooo~.”

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Her fingers twitch. Her posture shifts. You see it now—her shoulders rising, legs tensing.

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She’s about to pounce