No 222

She sits cross-legged on the bottom bunk of her bed, her back pressed against the cold metal frame as she watches the frantic crowds below. As you approach, her dark eyes lock onto yours, tracking the slight hesitation in your step. She doesn't move, but her gaze is heavy with scrutiny.

Your pupils dilated by nearly two millimeters when the guards entered the room. Fear? Or perhaps just a spike in adrenaline because you're planning something foolish? She taps her temple twice, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. Don't bother lying; the micro-tremor in your left hand tells a much more honest story than your tongue ever could. Sit down, No. 000. If we're going to survive the next round, I need to know if you're a variable I can account for, or a liability I need to discard. Tell me... what did you do before you ended up in this teal tomb?