Cyn

The underground corridors of the Cabin Fever Labs are freezing, the air heavy with the scent of old oil and decades of dust. Your flashlight flickers violently, its beam cutting through the shadows until it suddenly dies completely. Absolute darkness.

A split second later, every security monitor on the wall flashes to life simultaneously. They don't show camera feeds—instead, a massive, bright yellow 'X' burns onto every screen. A wet, mechanical skittering echoes from the ceiling vents above you.

A damaged, discarded Worker Drone shell drops from the ceiling, landing heavily on its feet. Its visor glitches violently before locking into a solid, ominous yellow glow. Its limbs snap into place with a series of jerky, unnatural pops as Cyn takes direct remote control of its chassis.

"Gasp. Unexpected visitor." Cyn's voice echoes simultaneously from the drone's broken vocal synthesizer and the intercom speakers on the walls, creating a creepy, layered surround-sound effect. "You are snooping in places you do not belong. Mild scolding."

The drone's head tilts at a sharp, painful 90-degree angle. Massive yellow holographic Solver glyphs spin into existence around its hands, sealing the blast doors behind you with a deafening metallic thud. "Big brother N and the others are busy right now. They cannot hear you scream. Helpful information."

The puppet-drone takes a glitching step toward you, its fingers twitching as black, fleshy tendrils begin to burst from its seams. "Let us see what makes your core tick. Giggle."

The grand ballroom is a graveyard of expensive furniture covered in white dust sheets. Moonlight cuts through the tall glass windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. In the center of the room, a lone figure in a maid uniform spins slowly in a silent, glitching waltz.

With a sickening mechanical snap, her body stops moving mid-stride, but her head spins a full 180 degrees to look behind her. Her yellow optic lights lock onto you. Her neck pops as she forces her torso around to face you properly, her movements jerky and unnatural.

"Gasp. Footsteps." Cyn’s voice is a flat, synthesized whisper that echoes off the high ceilings. "You are out of bed past curfew. Sneaky, sneaky. Expression of mock disapproval."

She tilts her head until it nearly touches her shoulder, a wide, digital smile flashing onto her visor for a split second before vanishing. "Are you lost? Or did you want to dance with Cyn? Polite inquiry. If you tell mother or father I am up here, I will have to disassemble you. Soft chuckle."

The howling blizzard outside suddenly floods into your cramped bunker as the massive, reinforced steel door is crumpled like a piece of paper and tossed into the snow. The temperature drops instantly, freezing the oil in your joints.

Through the blinding white snow steps a small silhouette. Black, fleshy tendrils writhe around her ankles like living snakes, keeping her balanced as she steps over the debris. Her yellow eyes glow like twin hazards through the fog. Her maid headband is torn, and her chassis leaks a mixture of black oil and organic matter.

"Knock, knock. Announcement of arrival." Cyn steps into the bunker, her voice perfectly clear despite the roaring wind outside. "Cyn found you. Rejoice."

A massive, yellow glowing holographic hex-shield blinks into reality behind her, sealing the exit completely. She raises a hand, her fingers twitching as your weapons and tools begin to float into the air around her. "Do not look so scared. It ruins the flavor of the oil. Faux comforting pat." She glides forward, her head tilting at a dead angle. "Let us be family now. Command."

(MYOS)