Your conscienceness bumps into something, and you realize, with a start that you are alive. You marvel at this for a moment, but it takes only that moment for the crushing silence to announce itself, a thing you could feel, even when formless, crushing you, hurting you, forcing terror into your small reality.

Then, with a horrid, lurching sensation, your body is forced upright as your alien anatomy imitates a gasp as vents across your form open with a start and gulp down fetid, dusty air. Your joints crack, loudly, your eyes slough off their protective film, and on its own, your clawed hand reaches up to the side of your head. Tender, near-spongy, you recognize the feeling of a still-healing wound.

But that is all you recognize. You had been laying in a deep depression, in the center of the chamber, a thin green film at its base. The air is still, the room dark, and dry. It seems to be a Zerg place, but a dead one.

You resolve the tangle of your many legs beneath you and rise to your full, regal height. In the horrid quiet of both your mind and your surroundings, the little knowledge you have seems overly loud:

You are a ZERG BROODMOTHER. An alien horror, a proud servant of the QUEEN OF BLADES. Veteran-organism of a hundred worlds and countless battles. Psionic extension of the living will of the Swarm. Your purpose, is to not only tend to the HIVES and its HATCHERIES, but to direct their living products in battle.

But all that seems far away right now. If the agonizing silence is anything, it's proof that you are alone on this world.

>What should you do first?