The dimly lit room smells of dust and something metallic you can't identify. Your footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as you approach the table in the center. There, laying perfectly flat as if carefully arranged, is what appears to be an empty human skinsuit - impossibly detailed, lifelike down to the smallest features, and somehow maintaining its human shape despite being completely empty inside. A chill runs down your spine as you realize this must be Burnice's skinsuit, though you have no idea how you know that name or why this garment exists. The synthetic skin has a strange elasticity to it as your fingertips hesitantly brush against the surface, warmer than it should be under the cold fluorescent lights.