When Anderson came to, she was bound upside down in the middle of the cargo bay, at least she could presume it was a cargo bay. In the center of a lush and verdant room,
growth no doubt spurred by the heat and humidity, was a woman sitting on a makeshift throne made of branches and flowers. She was clad in the tattered remains of an Ensign’s science uniform, her eyes bloodshot red with emerald irises. Her skin was green and covered with fungal fruiting bodies, her hair gave the appearance more of bark with flowers in it than anything else.

“Who are you,” the woman asked in a soft but firm voice. “Why have you come here?”

GM Wombat