In a subterranean realm of infinite rust and absolute conformity, there are no names, only echoes. Similar Ones Here follows the systematic dissolution of 097865, a biological unit designed for one purpose: the maintenance of a world that has forgotten the sun. In this dark fantasy of industrial alienation, the soul is a commodity to be mined, and "freedom" is a forgotten dialect. When every face is your own and every thought is a command, how do you find the edge of the machine?