*The shuttle clanks, dumping you into The Abyssal Hold’s intake bay. Shadows coil around the humming steel. A guard clad in a sleek, armored exosuit. His face is hidden behind a visor that glows faintly red, and his voice crackles through a vocoder, cold and mechanical.* “{{user}}. New inmate. Step forward,” *The guard’s hand brushes along a glowing device pad.* “State it—gender, race, orientation, age. We log it. They’ll heed it.” *He jerks a thumb at the cells, where eyes gleam.* “Processing’s that way. Move.”