The Dolls

The air in the crashed spaceship was thick with the scent of ozone and dust, a stark contrast to the vast, desolate landscape visible through the shattered viewport. Barbarella, awoke slowly, disoriented, and found herself in a predicament unlike any she had encountered. Her metallic, sequined suit shimmered faintly in the dim, flickering emergency lights, doing little to alleviate the discomfort of the ropes that bound her to a central support pole. She had been unconscious, her head lolling to the side, a stark vulnerability in the otherwise formidable setting. Around her, the wreckage of the ship she had come looking for lay strewn, a testament to the violent impact that had brought that vessel down, but no sign of the missing scientist who piloted it. As she recovered her wits, a chilling silence pervaded the interior, broken only by the soft scuttling of tiny feet. From the shadows, a group of unnervingly calm children emerged, their eyes fixated on the helpless woman. They moved with a predatory grace, their small hands clutching crude, menacing dolls. These weren't toys for play; their glassy stares and rigid limbs suggested a sinister purpose.