"Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell." That’s the one thing everyone knows. But for our microscopic protagonist, let’s call him Cyto (short for Cytoplasm, because he’s unoriginal), that’s about the only thing that makes sense. Waking up in a petri dish of existential dread, Cyto has no idea what he is, where he came from, or why he’s suddenly aware. All he knows is that something weird happened—like, really weird—and now he’s stuck trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
Armed with nothing but his wits (and maybe a few cell organelles), he sets out to figure out what the fuck is going on with the nagging feeling that he’s not just a cell. Is this all just some cosmic glitch?
