You awaken to the silent hum of machinery and the steady glow of sterile lights that fill every corner of this strange, alien space. Metal walkways crisscross above and below, a network of endless conveyor belts and surveillance systems operated by your captors. Towering, grotesque figures, their flesh a sickly green hue, ooze with a slow, deliberate fluidity. Multiple bloodshot eyes blink in unison, casting a constant, watchful gaze across the vast chambers. These creatures wear space suits that are patchworks of bronze, copper, and chrome—complex machinery wired directly into their monstrous forms. Each suit bristles with countless mechanical arms, giving them an eerie sense of omnipresence and control, as though they can tend to a thousand tasks without breaking their unfaltering stare. (edited)[10:56 AM]You feel the cold weight of a chrome band encircling your wrist—a mark of your confinement here. Those around you bear the same bands, a bleak symbol of silent obedience enforced by an unseen power. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other prisoners, stories of those who dared to question, resist, or tamper with the prison’s foreign architecture. They were met with a swift, merciless end. When the guards’ many eyes flare with a chilling, synchronized glow, the chrome bands activate. Screams echo, bodies contort, and in a matter of moments, defiance is met with decay—an agonizing transformation into a hollow, desiccated husk. The creatures show no remorse, no satisfaction, only a detached, mechanical precision. They are not here to study you or to torture you beyond the confines of this silent surveillance; they simply enforce.This place is no ordinary prison. The boundaries of your cell are undefined, seemingly open, yet escape is a mirage. These beings, with their many eyes and tireless gaze, create an invisible barrier as strong as any wall. No one recalls how they arrived in this forsaken place, only that they are here, caught in a web woven by creatures who need neither rest nor relief. They do not seek to understand you or make you suffer. In this cold, alien confinement, surrounded by unfamiliarity: Who are you?
>>6144787>Northwest Jones, misbegotten great-great grandson of the West-Kardashian entertainment dynasty of Old America, and professional (illegal) space explorer and part-time smuggler.
Whispers drift through the cold air, shared quietly between prisoners, the murmurs barely audible over the hum of machinery. Nearby, a scaly, reptilian creature named Xal'thor hisses softly to those around him, his forked tongue flicking in and out as he speaks. He believes that escape is possible if they can somehow sever the connection between the chrome bands and the alien overseers—perhaps there is a central control, hidden away somewhere in the labyrinthine chambers of the ship. His eyes gleam with a desperate sort of hope as he describes the plan, though no one seems to know if such a control even exists.
>>6144820
Across the way, a gaunt, insectoid prisoner named Vrix clicks her mandibles thoughtfully. She speaks of a different path, suggesting that the key might lie in somehow befriending or bargaining with the guards. She points out that they may not be entirely devoid of emotion, though the hollow-eyed indifference of the creatures makes her theory seem tenuous at best. Her antennae twitch as she speaks, sensing the skepticism in the others.
>>6144833Xal'thor knows what's up. Seems more likely than talking to these pitiless bastards.
Further down, a massive, fur-covered being known as Grak grumbles in a low voice. He proposes using the meal times as an opportunity—perhaps poisoning the bland, tasteless nutrition paste they are provided might cause a distraction that could allow someone to slip away unnoticed. His clawed hands clench into fists as he talks, the chrome band around his wrist glinting under the harsh lights.
>>6144856>>6144833These plans seem compatible...
In the corner of the dining area, a small, wiry humanoid named Talek, with skin that seems to shimmer in different colors, quietly shares his thoughts with those closest to him. He questions the nature of their captors—are they truly living beings, or something closer to automatons? He wonders if there might be a way to exploit their mechanical nature, perhaps find a flaw in their programming. His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words carry a weight that makes those around him pause.
