A derelict, adrift and awake. A suit that reads as one of its own. One hundred and twenty floors between you and the thing at the core — and a voice in your visor who has done the maths.
The deck shows you what will happen if you take that step — then it keeps its word. Clear means clear. Red means dead.
The Lance ends anything it reaches. It also runs on charges you will not find lying around. Spend them like they are the last.
You are not alone in there. She reads the ship, remembers the floors you walked, and tells you when to stop walking.
“Mask is holding. As far as this ship is concerned you're one of its own — and that is the entire reason you're still breathing.”
FAVE · Floor 1