When the flood rushed over the cities, the strangers, too, found themselves a victim to its waters. As the towers sank and the hills melted down, there were those strains that survived by clinging to the sides of lifeboats or crawling onto drifting cruise ship wrecks, and there were also those that drowned beneath the waves – never to know the yank of extractions, never to be made a lifeless dummy for kaleido room thrills, never to be trademarked.
new entries in red

The interview room is unadorned, and windowless to the outside-world. A grated-over white holoscreen acts as the only source of light, save for the lamp that hangs from the ceiling and casts the table and its chairs in a pale and impatient pallor. The walls are scuffed in several places, and both doors have been locked. Though the chairs face each other, the doors do not, with the windowless exit to the outside world in the direct glow of the holoscreen, that now begins to flicker.

The subject sits in the chair farthest from the windowless door, their expression neutral.

the subject waits to be shown a strain from the list above.