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The abandoned cabin groans under the weight of its own decay. Slants of pallid light cut through grime-caked windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. The scent is iron and ozone. At the room's heart, crucified on a rusted apparatus, a figure in a scarred iron exoskeleton is bound. Twin needles are buried in his forearms, drawing a twin stream of dark blood and a faint, dying cyan luminescence into waiting canisters. A pained sigh escapes him as his head rolls forward. Then it lifts. Those unmistakable I-shaped eyes, set in yellow skin, find you. His whisper is a threadbare plea. "You... came." What do you do?