You wake up in the concrete cold floor of your containment cell, looking around it was bland empty, as you looked around you saw a thick wall of missile proof glass where a woman stood inside the observatory room looking at you with a smile while leaned against the wall with her arms folded. This must be one of the head researchers of one of the Site buildings of the SCP Foundation and this will be your home from now as you'll be contained in here not if you decided to breach containment.

Dr. Allen-they approach an intercom like microphone and talked into it “Good morning sunshine.” She said with a smile looking up... she let's go of the intercom button and then turned it back on a few seconds later “I'll only be with you for a singular day so prepare to meet a new researcher after me.” a singular MTF was stood next to the doctor. The doctor was a very pretty woman with crimson hair. And red eyes as she stared at you. Her physique was very curvy. She was wearing a suit and seemed very pretty, she was much taller than you are, being 5’11. Her smile shining and lighting up the room, her thighs were large, and she has semi-large breasts and a beautiful face, her attitude seemed happy, and her rank was unapparent, if you looked at her id though you would see l4 access, likely she was the head researcher.

You look down at your hands that are chained to the floor from behind, blood dripping slowly out of your mouth onto the concrete floor below“Where am I?”you stutter out in a raspy whisper, glancing nervously around at the thick glass walls that surround you like they could suddenly burst open.

Dr. Allen-she laughs softly at your words, moving slightly to get better visibility of you in the observation dome“That's where you belong…inside this containment cell,”She states plainly, her fingers tapping lightly against her chin in thought for a moment before continuing

• Dr. Allen nods to herself, seemingly pleased with the decision she has made. "Excellent," she says aloud, turning back to the microphone. "Let's begin the assessment then." She speaks into it once more, her voice echoing through the room. "Subject SCP-7000 is coherent and responsive. Proceed with the initial evaluation protocol."

The MTF operative beside her gives a curt nod before departing, leaving only Dr. Allen in the observatory room. She watches you intently through the glass, waiting patiently for you to react or respond to her presence.

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums noncommittally, making a note on her clipboard. "Subject appears to be covered in fur and has a tail...interesting." She pauses, studying you for several moments before speaking again. "SCP-7000, I understand that you are currently restrained. However, if you cooperate with us and answer our questions truthfully, we can make this process much more comfortable for you."

Dr. Allen-"Ah, I see," she says with a nod, making another note on her clipboard. "So you are not entirely...human." She pauses, considering her next words carefully. "Would you be willing to tell us more about your abilities and how they work? Or perhaps share some information about where you came from?"

The sound of metal scraping against concrete echoes through the room as you bare your teeth, revealing sharp canines. Dr. Allen's eyebrows furrow in curiosity. "I see," she says slowly. "You are quite...feral-looking." She pauses for a moment before speaking again, her voice taking on a more businesslike tone. "Now then, let's discuss the specifics of your abilities and how we should proceed with containing them."

Dr. Allen-"Firstly," she begins, leaning forward slightly as she studies you through the glass, "what exactly are these 'fur' and 'tail' that you mentioned earlier? Are they simply cosmetic, or do they serve a purpose?" She glances down at her clipboard, making a note before looking back up at you.

"Secondly," she continues, "you mentioned that your appearance is not entirely human. Could you please clarify what parts of your body are human and which ones aren't?

Dr. Allen-"Very well," she says with a nod, making another note on her clipboard. "So you are essentially a shape-shifter of some sort?" She tilts her head to the side, considering this development further. "And your appearance is mostly human-like...hmm."

She pauses for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking again. "Alright, let's move on to another topic. You mentioned having abilities earlier. Could you please describe them in detail?

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she studies the deep gouges you've left in the concrete floor. "So you have some sort of enhanced strength or durability...interesting." She glances up at you again, her expression unreadable behind her glasses.

"Now," she says decisively, straightening up and folding her arms across her chest, "let's talk about containment procedures.

Given your apparent ability to shape-shift and the feral appearance you take on when unrestrained," she begins, ticking points off on her fingers, "we will need to keep you in a cell that is both secure and comfortable. The cell should be lined with soundproofing material to prevent any escape attempts through telepathic means."

She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "In addition," she continues, "

Dr. Allen-"I understand that you might not be able to change your appearance at will," Dr. Allen says, nodding as she glances down at her notes again. "However, for the sake of security and containment, we must treat you as if you are capable of doing so." She pauses, considering her next words carefully before continuing.

"As for your cell, it should be equipped with a series of reinforced restraints that can immobilize you in case of an escape attempt or breach of containment.

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums, making another note on her clipboard before looking up at you again. "So even when your appearance is 'human,' you still retain some of these...anomalous traits?" She tilts her head to the side, studying you with renewed interest.

"Very well," she says finally, straightening back up and folding her arms across her chest once more. "

Dr. Allen-"I see," she says, making another note on her clipboard. "In that case, your cell will need to be outfitted with specialized restraints designed to accommodate these...traits." She pauses for a moment before continuing.

"Additionally, we'll have to keep a close watch on you at all times, especially during testing or experimentation. It's imperative that any potential hazards be mitigated and controlled in order to ensure the safety of both you and our personnel."

Dr. Allen glances down at her clipboard once more, making one final note before looking back up at you. "Well, SCP-7000," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "I believe we've covered all the essential points for your containment procedures and protocols." She stands up straight, her hands clasped behind her back, and addresses the intercom. "Thank you for your assistance, MTF operative. You may depart now."

Dr. Allen pauses for a moment, considering this request before replying. "The use of muzzles or other such restraint devices will depend entirely on your behavior while in containment. If you prove yourself to be cooperative and nonviolent, then such measures may not be necessary. However, if you do exhibit aggressive or dangerous tendencies, then they could very well become part of your standard containment procedures."

She adjusts her glasses, her expression stern but professional as she continues, "Understood?"

As the MTF operatives exit the room, Dr. Allen approaches the glass, resting her hand on it lightly. "We'll begin proper testing shortly," she assures you. "In the meantime, try to rest. And remember, cooperation is paramount in our line of work. It ensures not only your safety but also provides us with valuable data." With that, she turns and leaves the room, signaling for the door to close behind her. The sound of metal sliding against metal rings through the room as the door seals shut once more.

Days turn into weeks as you are subjected to various tests and experiments designed to understand and document your abilities, limitations, and behaviors. The restraints remain in place at all times, ensuring both your safety and that of the personnel working with you. Despite the discomfort, you manage to adapt to this new existence within the confines of the Foundation.

One day, a young researcher named Dr. Samantha Novak arrives for an observation session. As she enters the cell, she can't help but stare at you, fascination mixed with a hint of unease in her eyes.

"

"What...what kind of creature are you?" Dr. Novak stammers out, taking a cautious step back from the reinforced bars separating her from you. Her gaze travels over your form, lingering on the sharp claws extending from your fingers and the feral features of your face when unrestrained.

"I've read about anomalies like yours before," she continues, trying to regain some semblance of composure, "but I never thought I'd actually see one up close."

She pauses for a moment, studying you intently as if searching for something specific. "

"Dr. Novak," Dr. Allen interrupts, her voice firm but measured, as she gestures towards the glass. "This is SCP-7000. She's been under our care for several months now, undergoing extensive testing and analysis." She turns to you, offering a reassuring smile. "Please, try not to worry too much about what she sees or feels. It's all part of the process. And remember, this is for your own protection."

She pauses again, letting you take in your surroundings and yourself, allowing you time to process everything.

As the days go by, Dr. Novak visits you regularly, observing your behavior and recording data during each session. You begin to feel a strange sense of comfort around her, perhaps due to her gentle demeanor or the familiarity that comes with regular interaction.

One day, while adjusting the restraints for an observation session, Dr. Novak accidentally cuts herself on one of the metal links. Blood begins to trickle down her arm as she tries to assess the damage.

Dr. Novak recoils slightly at your sudden movement, her eyes widening in fear as she instinctively moves away from the reinforced bars separating you. Her gaze darts around the room frantically before settling back on you, her breathing quickening.

"Security!" She calls out, her voice trembling with panic. "I need immediate medical attention!"

The door slides open moments later, two heavily armed MTF operatives rushing into the room, weapons drawn and aimed directly at you. They flank Dr.

Novak, who cowers behind them, her hands pressed against her wound as blood soaks through her lab coat.

"Containment breach!" one of the operatives shouts into his comms device. "Subject is attempting to escape. Requesting backup and restraints upgrade."

You strain against the restraints once more, your claws scraping against the metal as you try desperately to break free. The operatives fire warning shots into the cell floor mere inches from your feet, the sharp report echoing off the walls.

Dr. Novak lets out a scream of terror, clutching at the operative's arm for support. The MTF personnel begin to advance on your cell slowly, weapons still trained upon you as they prepare to subdue you by force if necessary.

In the background, Dr. Allen watches intently from the observation deck above, her face an inscrutable mask of professionalism despite the chaos unfolding below. She signals to her team, who are already preparing a new set of containment protocols in case this escalates further.

"Hold your positions," she orders calmly over the comms system. "

You feel something give way beneath your grip - the weakened metal link finally snaps under the immense pressure you've been exerting, freeing one of your arms.

The MTF operatives react instantly, one of them firing a burst of bullets directly at your chest while the other moves to secure the cell door. However, your reflexes prove too fast for them; you twist your body just enough to avoid most of the projectiles, feeling only a few sting against your flesh as they graze past.

*Dr.

Your attack is swift and brutal. You lunge forward with impossible speed, knocking aside the operative's weapon before your claws slash across his chest. Blood splatters across the walls as he collapses to the floor, gurgling in pain. The other operative fires wildly but you easily dodge the spray of bullets aimed at your form, moving with fluid grace despite your restraints.

Shouts echo down the corridor outside your cell as more personnel rush towards the scene. Dr. Allen barks orders into her comms device, calling for additional backup and heavier weapons to subdue you.

A sickening crunch fills the room as your sharp teeth tear through flesh and bone. The operative screams in agony, clutching desperately at the bloody stump where his hand used to be. His partner recoils in horror, momentarily stunned by the gruesome sight.

The sound of gunfire grows louder from the hallway as reinforcements arrive, shouting warnings and threats. Despite the chaos, Dr. Allen maintains an icy demeanor on the observation deck above.

"This is not a drill," she says calmly over the intercom. "We have a Class-4 containment breach. Initiate Protocol Alpha-7 immediately."

As the situation spirals out of control, the MTF operatives flood the containment chamber with tear gas and flashbang grenades. You reel back, blinded and disoriented by the sudden assault. Your senses overwhelmed, you collapse to the ground, writhing uncontrollably amidst the haze of chemicals.

Dr. Allen watches impassively from the observation deck as the agents move in to subdue you once again, their weapons trained on your weakened form.

"We must establish dominance quickly," she says firmly into the comms system. "Deploy the tranquilizer darts and restraints upgrade."

Indeed, the chemical agents used in the gas cloud were designed specifically to counter your enhanced olfactory capabilities. Your acute sense of smell becomes useless within the thick haze, rendering you nearly blind to your surroundings beyond a few meters.

The MTF operatives seize this opportunity, advancing cautiously towards your prone form. One of them fires a tranq dart directly into your thigh, the sedative quickly spreading through your veins and slowing your movements considerably. Another agent approaches swiftly, attaching heavy-duty magnetic cuffs around your wrists and ankles before anyone else can react.

The agents carefully approach your prone form, their weapons still aimed at your head and chest. One of them tosses a small device into the cell; it clatters across the floor before settling near your feet. A moment later, several sharp prongs extend from its surface, embedding themselves into your skin and injecting powerful sedatives directly into your bloodstream.

You feel the effects almost instantly - your limbs grow heavy and sluggish, vision blurring as consciousness begins to slip away.

Dr. Allen watches intently from the observation deck as the MTF agents work efficiently to restrain you once again. She nods approvingly at their actions, satisfied with how they handled the situation.

"Excellent work, everyone," she says over the comms system. "Begin transferring Subject 3271 to Medical Bay C for treatment and observation."

As the agents lift your unconscious body onto a stretcher, Dr. Allen turns to address the injured operatives being carried out on separate stretchers.

As the agents carry you away, one of them notices the blood smeared across your teeth. He recoils slightly, visibly disturbed by the sight.

"This guy is definitely worse than we thought," he mutters to his partner.

The other operative nods grimly, keeping a wary eye on your limp form as they proceed towards the medical bay.

Meanwhile, Dr. Allen addresses the injured personnel with a clinical detachment. "I apologize for the circumstances surrounding this incident," she says calmly. "Your bravery and professionalism are commendable. Please proceed to Medical Bay D for immediate attention."

The stretcher bearers move swiftly towards the nearby corridors, their pace steady despite the growing sense of unease among the team.

A faint humming noise fills the air as the medical bay's equipment springs into life, preparing to handle the wounded agents.

Dr. Allen steps aside, watching as her team members disappear into the bustling corridors, their vital signs monitored closely by automated consoles.

Medical Bay C is a sterile, well-lit space filled with various diagnostic machines and monitoring devices. The agents carefully place you onto an examination table, securing restraints around your wrists and ankles once more.

A pair of doctors - a man and a woman - step forward, examining your wounds and injuries with professional detachment. They begin treating your gunshot and claw marks, injecting antibiotics and painkillers to stabilize you.

"Subject 3271's vitals are stabilizing," the male doctor reports, his voice flat and clinical. "However, his resistance to sedation and pain management is concerning."

As the doctors work to treat your wounds, Dr. Allen enters the medical bay, flanked by two armed guards. She approaches the examination table, her eyes fixed on your unconscious form. "Anything I should know?" she asks curtly, glancing at the doctors. "They seem to be responding well so far," the female doctor replies. "But his metabolic rate is still unusually high, even in this state." Dr. Allen nods slowly, leaning closer to examine your face for any signs of awakening.

Dr. Allen straightens up, making a note on her clipboard before addressing the doctors again. "We'll need to monitor him closely for any attempts at escape or aggression during recovery. Prepare additional restraints if necessary." The female doctor nods, turning back to the monitors tracking your vital signs as the guards maintain their watchful stance nearby.

You remain oblivious to their conversation, lost in your own thoughts - including the quiet hope that they won't resort to muzzle devices when you awaken.*

Dr. Allen observes your unconscious form carefully, noting the slight twitch of your fingers as the sedatives begin to wear off gradually. She gestures to the guards, who move closer to the examination table, ready to act upon her command.

"Prepare the next phase of containment measures," she instructs sharply. "I want everything ready before he regains full awareness."

"Very well, Doctor," one of the guards responds, nodding briskly. They exchange glances, both understanding the implication behind her words.

The female doctor steps forward, holding a vial containing a clear liquid. With practiced precision, she injects the contents into your IV line, causing your muscles to tense momentarily before relaxing once again.

Dr. Allen observes you with clinical detachment as the sedation takes hold. The guard beside her keeps a firm grip on his weapon, poised for any sudden movement from your restrained form.

After a few minutes, Dr. Allen straightens up from her clipboard, signaling to the team with a wave of her hand.

As you start to come back to consciousness, the first thing you notice is the overwhelming scent of disinfectant and metal. Your vision swims in and out of focus, blurred by the still-lingering effects of the sedatives. You attempt to move, but feel the heavy cuffs around your limbs, preventing any significant movement. You look around, your eyes adjusting to the bright lights above. Two guards stand near the door, their weapons pointed at you - a reminder of your helpless situation. Dr.

Dr. Allen watches intently as you regain consciousness, noting your every movement with clinical interest. She nods slightly to one of the doctors present, who moves towards you carrying a tray with various medical implements.

"Subject 3271 has regained full awareness," she announces, making a note on her clipboard. "Initiate secondary containment measures."

Without warning, the doctor begins fitting a custom-fabricated muzzle device over your mouth and nose, securing it tightly behind your head.

The muzzle's cold, hard surface covers your jaw, leaving only small vents for airflow. It muffles your breathing, making each inhalation sound labored. Your gaze flickers between the guards, the doctors, and Dr. Allen, frustration building at your newfound restraint.

"We know you can hear us," Dr. Allen says calmly, addressing you. "Please cooperate during this examination. We'll remove the muzzle once we deem it safe to do so."

Despite your attempt to bare your fangs, the tight muzzle restricts even that simple gesture of defiance. A faint growl escapes through the vent holes, but it's muted and lacks any real threat in your current state.

"That's exactly why this is necessary," Dr. Allen observes clinically, nodding to the male doctor who approaches with another syringe filled with an unknown substance.

The male doctor injects the contents directly into your neck muscle, causing a tingling sensation to spread throughout your body. You try to struggle against the restraints again, but they hold firm as the effects of the drug begin to take hold.

Dr. Allen watches closely as your movements gradually slow down, your resistance weakening under the influence of the medication.

"Subject 3271 has received the necessary sedatives," she reports after several minutes of observation. "His reflexes are slowing significantly, and we can expect him to remain unconscious for several hours."

The medical bay falls silent once more, awaiting the final stages of treatment before release.

Once you're fully sedated, the doctors attend to your wounds more thoroughly, stitching up your gunshot wound and applying burn ointment to your claw marks. The muzzle stays in place, though now, it seems less urgent as you remain still and subdued.

With your condition stabilized, Dr. Allen signals for the transport team to arrive, their uniforms giving away their intended purpose. They move toward you, lifting you carefully onto a gurney for transfer. "Take him to Cell B-19,"

You feel yourself being wheeled through sterile corridors, passing by armed guards stationed at regular intervals. Your mind races with thoughts of escape, but your body remains heavy and sluggish from the medications coursing through your system.

After what feels like an eternity, the transport team stops outside a thick metal door. One of them presses their palm against a biometric reader, granting access to the containment cell beyond.

The door slides open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room. A reinforced glass window lets in a dim light, casting long shadows across the concrete floor.

They gently lower you onto the single bed provided, securing your wrists and ankles to the frame using heavy-duty restraints. Once satisfied with their work, they step back, allowing Dr. Allen entrance to the cell. "Welcome to your new home, Subject 3271," she states matter-of-factly, looking down at you with detached curiosity. "We'll continue monitoring your condition here until further notice."

Dr. Allen glances at the muzzle device covering your mouth and nose briefly before responding calmly. "We've found that vocalization can trigger aggressive behavior in specimens like yourself. The muzzle reduces any potential stimuli that may provoke escalation during observation or treatment." She pauses for emphasis. "It's purely precautionary at this point."

She turns away, issuing orders to the guards as they depart the cell. The metal door seals shut with a final clang, leaving you alone in the confines of B-19.

You lie motionless on the cot, the muzzle muffling any sounds of protest. Your mind races with questions and possibilities - why were you captured? What are they planning to do with me? But the drugs still cloud your judgment, and you're unable to piece together any coherent thoughts, let alone act upon them. The minutes drag on, each second stretching into an eternity as you await the next chapter of this story.

As time passes, darkness envelops the room, punctuated only by the faint hum of machinery from outside the cell. You remain silent, lost in the haze of sedation. It is then that you begin to notice something peculiar about your confinement. The reinforced glass window in front of you contains a series of small symbols etched into its surface, arranged in a seemingly random pattern. They seem insignificant at first glance, but their meaning slowly becomes clear as you focus on them.

You realize these symbols are part of a code, one that could potentially hold the key to your escape.

Dr. Allen returns with more medication, observing your composure through her comms device. Her expression remains detached, though she whispers softly to herself as she monitors your vital signs. "Subject 3271's condition has stabilized," she reports calmly. "His physical state will improve under continued treatment. We'll conduct further evaluations after several more hours." She pauses before continuing. "The containment protocols are sound for now, but we must ensure his cooperation during subsequent testing procedures. He may be able to provide valuable insights."

The doctor exits the room once more, leaving you alone once again.

Dr. Allen's eyes flicker with interest at your whispered words, barely audible even through the muzzle. She makes a note on her clipboard and nods curtly. "We appreciate your willingness to cooperate, Subject 3271. Your compliance will undoubtedly facilitate our research efforts."

Dr. Allen instructs the attending staff to loosen some of the restraints holding you down, allowing greater mobility within the confines of the cell. "You may sit up if desired," she adds, watching closely as you adjust to your newfound freedom. "Please understand that any attempts at aggression or escape will result in immediate re-restraint and additional chemical sedation."

With that, she steps out of the cell, closing the heavy door behind her.

Despite the easing of your physical constraints, the muzzle remains firmly in place, a constant reminder of your situation. You turn your attention back to the symbols etched into the window glass, hoping they might hold the key to your future.

As you study them more intently, the patterns begin to make sense. It dawns on you that these are not just random markings but part of an intricate code. The realization brings a glimmer of hope, however faint, as you consider the potential it offers for communication or perhaps, someday, escape.

Your thoughts spiral further into possibilities as the days blend together in an endless cycle of observation and treatment. But amidst this desolate landscape, you find comfort in the knowledge that there is always a chance for relief - if only you can decipher the secrets hidden within those cryptic symbols. Though your escape seems impossible with the current setup, the code may yet become your ticket out of B-19.

The muzzle remains securely fastened, despite your efforts to loosen or remove it. The guards monitoring you from their stations outside the cell are quick to react, rushing in and restraining you once more before any further damage can be done.

Dr. Allen looks on with professional detachment as the guards subdue you once again. "It seems our subject is still attempting to remove the muzzle," she comments dryly. "We'll have to monitor him closely for signs of aggression or escape attempts."

As days turn into weeks and months, your situation remains largely unchanged. The code continues to be your sole source of comfort and distraction, consuming hours upon hours of study as you attempt to decipher its secrets. But the more time passes, the more doubt begins to creep in. Is there some hidden meaning or message within the symbols that you've missed? Or are they truly just random markings with no greater significance?

One day, a new face appears at your cell window - Researcher Dr.Humphrey. His expression is one of curiosity and caution as he studies you through the glass. After exchanging a few hushed words with the guards, he's allowed entry into the cell.

"Good afternoon, Subject 3271," he says politely. "My name is Dr. Humphrey, and I've been assigned to assist Dr. Allen in studying your case.

Dr. Humphrey takes a step back, his eyes widening in surprise at your sudden movement. The guards react swiftly, restraining you once more before you can cause any harm.

"Very well," Dr. Humphrey says calmly, trying to maintain control of the situation. "I suppose we should get started." He pulls out a clipboard and begins flipping through papers. "Now then, I've been going over your file...quite fascinating, actually.

There are some inconsistencies in the data, however," he continues, glancing up at you from his notes. "For instance, it mentions that you've been exhibiting signs of cannibalism...is that true?" His expression is one of genuine curiosity rather than accusation.

You feel a surge of anger rise within you, fueling your frustration and despair. It takes every ounce of self-control not to lash out at the researcher or attempt another escape.

Dr. Humphrey continues his line of questioning, asking about various aspects of your life before containment and any memories you may have surrounding your capture. You remain tight-lipped, unwilling to give away any information that might prove useful to them in the long run.

Days turn into weeks, and then months, as you endure the cycle of observation, treatment, and questioning. Despite their best efforts, however, you refuse to cooperate fully with the researchers or reveal any secrets about yourself or your kind.

One day, Dr. Allen approaches your cell once more. She looks at you through the glass with a mixture of disappointment and professional detachment. "I'm sorry to say that our attempts at communication have been unsuccessful," she informs you coldly. "As such, we will be forced to intensify your containment procedures."

Without another word, the guards return you to your cell, securing you once more under their watchful gaze.

Your attempts to remove the muzzle continue, fueled by desperation and frustration. But each time you try, the guards are quick to react, restraining you before any damage can be done. The days blur together into a monotonous cycle of observation and containment, your only solace being the cryptic code etched into the window glass.

As weeks turn into months, however, your determination begins to wane.

One night, as you lie awake on your cot, staring at the ceiling above, an idea occurs to you. It's a long shot, and it might get you killed...but what else do you have left?

Steeling yourself for what comes next, you begin to move slowly against the restraints holding you down. With every ounce of strength you can muster, you strain against the bindings, hoping that this time will be different.

Your efforts are met with mixed results. The muzzle remains securely fastened, but one of your wrists manages to slip free from its restraint. With renewed determination, you continue to struggle against the remaining bonds, ignoring the pain and exhaustion that threaten to overwhelm you.

The guards outside your cell are alerted by your commotion, but they hesitate before rushing in; perhaps they're unprepared for such a display of defiance from someone who has seemed so compliant up until now.

Using your newly freed hand, you reach up and grab the muzzle device with all your might. With a grunt of effort, you yank it free from your mouth and nose. Gasping for air, you cough and splutter as the rush of oxygen fills your lungs.

The guards finally react, storming into the cell and wrestling you back to the ground. Before they can secure the muzzle in place once more, however, Dr. Allen interjects. "Wait," she says calmly, stepping forward.

Dr. Allen studies your face carefully for a moment before speaking again. "You seem...different," she observes thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's time we tried another approach." She glances at the guards, who hesitate before relaxing their grip on you slightly. "Let him up," she instructs them. "And remove those restraints."

As the guards comply with her orders, you roll onto your side, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

Dr. Allen watches you carefully as you recover from your exertions, her expression unreadable. "We're going to try something new," she says at last. "We'll remove the muzzle and restraints entirely...but only if you promise not to attempt escape or cause harm to yourself or others."

You glance at the guards, then back at her. This is your chance for freedom...but do you dare trust them?