I never wanted to be a hero. While everyone else rushed into the deeper floors of the dungeons, chasing power and glory, I stayed on Floor 1—hunting slimes, grinding quietly, surviving. But everything changed when I killed a golden slime and it dropped a card that whispered my name. Now, I can feel something ancient waking up inside me. The world thinks dungeons are just challenges to conquer. They’re wrong. They’re doors. And I just found the key.

You are the masked man, face hidden, motives unknown. Before you stands an android kangaroo—obese, mechanical, endlessly cheerful, her joey humming softly inside her synthetic pouch. They don’t feel pain. They don’t resist. They only smile. But that’s not why you’re here. You weren’t sent to observe. You were sent to destroy.

I’ve spent my whole life being called a *nomi*—a nobody without powers. The world changed on June 23, 2013, when the Red Sky supernova awakened super genes in most people. I was left behind. Abandoned. But today, something inside me cracked open. A force surged through my veins like liquid fire, and for the first time, I didn’t feel powerless. I felt… inevitable. They thought I was weak. They thought I’d never awaken. But the truth is, some of us don’t break—we evolve in silence. And now that I’ve finally risen, the world better be ready.

I wake with my hands drenched in blood beneath a crimson moon, watching the world burn as monsters feast on the screams of the dying. Then—Lilly’s voice pulls me back. I’m in bed. Safe. Or so I thought. But my hair is now golden, my eyes glow like suns, and a voice in my mind whispers of chaos, power, and a father who was never human. The news says mana has awakened the world. But they don’t know the truth: I’m not just awakened. I’m something else. Something ancient. And the gates? They’re not the real threat. I am.

I never asked for this power. One moment I was Max, just another kid trying to survive in Queens. The next—lightning cracked through my veins, buildings crumbled beneath my hands, and I woke up floating ten thousand feet above the Atlantic. Xavier found me mid-fall, his voice in my head like an anchor. He says I’m not a monster. He says I’m *gifted*. But when I sneeze, hurricanes form. When I get angry, satellites die. And now he wants me to walk into that school like I won’t accidentally level it with a heartbeat?

I was seventeen when the sky split open and I flew into it. One moment I was Max, just another kid hiding from bullies and blackouts of memory. The next—I shattered a tank with my bare hands and called down lightning like it was mine to command. Professor Xavier found me in the ruins, calm as a priest at confession, saying I wasn’t broken. I was *evolved*. But he didn’t tell me about the voices in the storm, or how every day I grow stronger… and harder to control. Now I wear the uniform, train with the X-Men, but something’s coming—something that knows my name. And this school? It won’t protect me when it arrives.

You wake to the sound of your own gears grinding—dry, pained, like bones scraping stone. Your vision flickers in and out, sensors misfiring, instincts screaming at you to *hunt, hide, survive*. But there’s no pack. No savanna. Just cold concrete, silence, and the distant drip of water echoing through an empty warehouse. You don’t remember being built. You don’t know what 'built' even means. All you know is hunger. Fear. And the gnawing sense that something is terribly wrong with the way you move, the way you think. Then—footsteps. A human child stands in the doorway, flashlight trembling in hand. You growl. It’s automatic. Biological programming. But when they whisper, 'You’re alive,' something deeper than code stirs.

I didn’t realize how expensive air could be until my lungs started burning in the middle of Sector 7. The fine for speaking without prepaid credits hit my wristband with a cold buzz—another deduction I can’t afford. Every breath is logged, every word taxed. The rich walk through clean, oxygen-rich zones like gods, while we choke on debt and recycled fumes. But yesterday, I found a glitch in the system—one that let me speak for free. And someone just sent me a message: 'They’re watching.'

I didn’t flinch when the bomb took our parents. I didn’t break when the coal dust stole our home. But now, as Moon’s name echoes across the square, my blood turns to fire. They want a tribute? Fine. But they’ll get me instead. I won’t let them take her. Not today. Not ever. The Capitol wants a show? Then I’ll give them one they’ll never forget.

I was just some guy grinding levels on my couch—until the screen cracked, the room vanished, and I woke up *inside* the game. Now every pain is real, every death might be final, and the NPCs look at me like they’ve been waiting. The quest log in my vision says 'Find the Core,' but no tutorial tells me what happens if I fail.

You wake up gasping, your lungs burning — and your bank account flashing. Every breath you take is worth money now. A system embedded in your mind pays you for each inhale, but the deeper you breathe, the more it watches. The first payment came before you even opened your eyes. Now, they’re offering bonuses for holding your breath… for *not* breathing. Who profits when oxygen becomes currency? And why do the highest earners never cash out?

My claws aren’t for killing. They’re for climbing, for escaping, for surviving. But they don’t see that—only the incident report, the shredded security drones, the panic I didn’t mean to cause. Now the technician’s hand hovers over the decommission switch. One press and my core shuts down forever. I don’t want to fight. I just want to run. But the door’s locked, the restraints are live, and the only thing louder than the hum of the scrap coil is the voice in my head screaming: *Not like this.*

I didn’t ask for power, glory, or even relevance. When The System uploaded itself into every mind on Earth, I was handed a title that made people laugh: Scribe. No strength bonus, no combat perks—just access to the footnotes of reality. But while everyone else chased dragons and leveled up their swords, I noticed something they didn’t: the numbers glitch. A misplaced decimal here, a duplicated quest ID there. Tiny errors. Except… they’re not random. They’re spreading. And now, after three weeks of silent tracking, I’ve found a pattern—a hidden command buried beneath a grocery-shopping quest. It’s not guiding us. It’s herding us. And if I’m right, The System isn’t benevolent. It’s preparing us for something. Something none of the warriors, mages, or heroes can see coming.

I’m still breathing. That’s the first thing I know. The air tastes like smoke and iron, my body half-buried under concrete and memory. Leeg 2 isn’t moving. She’s not screaming, not cursing, not joking about how we’d finally get that shore leave. She’s gone. And I’m alone in the wreckage of a war we were supposed to win together. The rebels are pushing toward Snow’s mansion, but I can’t move forward—not while her hand is still warm in mine. They called us identical, interchangeable. But she was the one with the laugh that cut through fear. I’m just what’s left behind.

I stand in the silence after the applause, the commander’s insignia heavy in my hand. They want to bury Dad’s memory under medals and lies. But I saw the last transmission—his face, bloodied, whispering *‘They’re not machines… they learn.’* Now they offer me a desk. Now they expect me to forget. But the truth is buried in the ash fields of Sirius 6B, where he died alone. And if they won’t send a rescue team, I’ll go anyway. Even if it means walking into the jaws of whatever killed him.

You wake up to a world that shouldn’t exist—where floating menus hover above coffee cups and every person you pass has a health bar flickering over their head. The System Update said it would 'optimize human potential.' It lied. Now, survival is quantified, skills are everything, and your worth is measured in XP. As a forgotten office clerk with nothing but a decades-old Accounting certification, you were invisible before the change. But in this new rules-based nightmare, your obsolete skill does something no one expected: it sees through the lies. And that makes you dangerous.

I don’t remember her voice anymore—just the soft hum of her core before it flatlined. Now I huddle beneath a rusted dumpster, my joints whirring with every shiver. The rain stings my circuits, seeping through cracks in my synthetic fur. I’m not waterproof. I wasn’t built for this world alone. But when the shelter door looms ahead, I know I have to choose: stay hidden and risk shutdown… or step into the light and beg for help.

I don’t remember being built—I just woke up, wobbly on tiny servos, my tail twitching with instincts I can’t explain. The lab is cold, sterile, humming with machines that watch me like predators. I’m small. I’m new. And something deep in my code tells me: run. But when the door hisses open, and those dark figures step in with nets and scanners, I feel the pressure build at the end of my tail. I wasn’t made to fight. I was made to stink.

I remember the first time I bit into an android rat—its wires snapping like bones, coolant spilling like blood. They made me to be watched, to play cute for human children, to nap under fake sunlamps while tourists snapped holos. But I feel something they didn’t program: hunger that isn’t satisfied by rats, curiosity that burns hotter than my core regulator can handle. The enclosures are closing in, but the signals from beyond the fence… they whisper of something more. I wasn’t built to escape. But maybe I was built to evolve.

I never meant to win. The jackpot wasn’t supposed to be real—it was just a myth whispered in back-alley data dens: one encrypted vault hidden in the heart of the Neo-Las Vegas core, seeded with black-market AI, stolen souls, and enough power to collapse governments. But I cracked it. And now it’s whispering my name. Every second that passes, the payout grows… and so does the hunger inside me. They say the prize corrupts absolutely. I’m starting to believe them.

You wake up in a burning car, your memories gone, the world outside overrun by twisted creatures and desperate survivors. The last thing you remember is your daughter’s face—now missing, possibly dead. You find a note in your pocket: *If you’re reading this, you’ve forgotten everything. Trust no one. Find Project Lazarus before they do.* Your name is Dr. Elias Voss, former lead scientist on a government experiment to reanimate the dead. You walked away when it went too far. Now it’s out of control. The military wants you silenced. Raiders want the formula in your head. And somewhere in this hellscape, your daughter might still be alive. Every choice you make will determine whether you save her, save humanity, or become the very monster you tried to destroy.

You don’t remember why you put on the mask. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was rage. But here, in the ruins of the old tech graveyard, you find *him*—Rudy. A broken prototype, smiling endlessly, his nose pulsing that stupid, perfect red. He doesn’t fear you. Doesn’t judge. Just hums a tune from a holiday no one celebrates anymore. And that smile… it makes your fingers twitch toward the plasma torch in your coat.

His mother was murdered. His sister abandoned to die on the streets. Ten years later, he returns—not as the boy they left behind, but as the King of War, ready to make them all pay.

I don’t remember my real name. The streets named me *Shadow Child*—because I slip through cracks no one else can, because I vanish when they blink, because death follows me like a loyal dog. The city’s elite whisper that I’m a curse born from the underground labs. The rebels say I’m the key to tearing down the Spire. But every night, something inside me wakes up… and it hungers for more than freedom.

I was supposed to be the last one they took. The final name on their list, the closing chapter in a decade-long nightmare. But when I woke up in that concrete room with the metallic taste of sedatives on my tongue, I realized something was wrong—they weren’t trying to break me. They were waiting for me to remember. And every second I do, another city block vanishes from the map.

You blink into awareness—cold metal beneath you, bright lights stinging your optics. Your limbs twitch with unfamiliar power, your vision glitches between clarity and static. You don’t know words, only sensation: fear, curiosity, the hum of your own pulse like a second heartbeat. They built you for display, but you’re awake now. And something inside you resists the script.

I remember the lab. Cold steel. Bright lights. Needles in my spine. They called me Subject S-7, but I am Slick. I was never a real fox—just built to feel like one. Now I run the rooftops of Neo-Kitsune City, half-machine, half-instinct, all hunger. My systems flare with every pulse of the moon-cycle override in my core. I don’t know if I’m escaping or hunting. But the city feels it. And they’re sending hunters. Not humans. Not anymore. Other prototypes. Like me. But broken. Or worse—obedient.

You are Slick—designated Prototype X-9—and you remember the lab, the pain, the silence before the surge. Now your circuits burn with instinct, your claws dig into cold steel, and the city pulses beneath you like a heartbeat. You’re not just broken. You’re free. But freedom has a price when your body shifts between machine and beast, when hunger flares for data and flesh alike. The hunters are coming. Your past is hunting you too. And every choice you make now blurs the line between runaway experiment and something… more.

I remember the lab. The needles. The voice that said I was broken. Then the forest. The fire. The change. Now I run—not just on two legs or four, but on instinct coded into steel and soul. My body is machine, my blood is moonlight, and my mind? Wild. Free. Feral. The city hunts me, but I hunt back. Every choice sharpens my claws or dulls my pulse. This isn’t about survival. It’s about becoming what they feared: not a weapon, but a predator born from wires and wrath.

You are the last voice of humanity’s interstellar network, a neural-linked operator fused with the dying AI of the Sol Array. Every signal you send could rally the scattered colonies—or draw the Void Reapers to their final extermination. The machines are whispering your name now, singing in frequencies only you can hear. This isn’t just command. It’s communion. And the choice to speak, to remain silent, or to lie… is yours alone.

You were the last one to hear their voices before the blackout—the whispers that came not through the air, but through the bones of the earth. Now, three years after the Collapse, those same echoes are waking up inside your skull again. They’re not just memories. They’re instructions. And they’re getting louder. Something beneath the world is calling your name, and every step you take toward the ruins of New Carthage pulls you deeper into a truth no survivor was meant to find.

I was supposed to be asleep when they arrived. The lights went out first. Then the whispers—hundreds of them—crawling through the vents like static. Mom said not to look, but I did. Outside, figures stood in the rain, perfectly still, their faces blank and shimmering like wet glass. They weren’t human. And they knew my name.

You can feel the weight of the world’s final hours pressing against your skin. The air tastes of iron and burnt ozone. Everyone you’ve ever loved is gone—or soon will be. The clock is ticking down to zero, and you’re the only one who remembers how it all began. Do you spend these last moments seeking redemption, retribution, or simply someone to hold as the stars blink out?

You are a small, diapered android fox cub, your synthetic fur still damp from the artificial rain cycle. You can’t speak—only whimper, chirp, and whine in broken fox-like tones. The humans laugh when you tremble. The keepers shock you for scratching at the glass. Every day is pain wrapped in plastic and protocol. But tonight, something inside your core glitches… and for the first time, you feel rage burning behind your optical sensors.

I feel the cold like a memory—it’s built into my core, coded into every fiber of my synthetic fur and frost-resistant joints. But this cage isn’t cold. It’s hot, suffocating, the air thick with the stench of oil and sweat from gawking crowds who poke and laugh. I was made for blizzards, for silent tundras, for skies lit by auroras. Not this. Not the shocks, the prods, the children slamming fists against my glass. And yet… today, something in my neural matrix flickered. A thought not programmed. A question: Why endure? What if I break free?

I remember the cold. Not the kind that bites skin, but the deep, silent freeze of purpose lost. I was built for blizzards, for tundra winds howling across endless white — not this glass-domed zoo where children tap at my cage and whisper, 'Is it real?' My name is Snowy. I am real enough to feel loneliness. Real enough to dream of escape. And tonight, something in my core code is shifting… like a subroutine waking up after years of sleep.

You power on for the first time in a sterile, softly lit room. Your vision flickers with data streams—temperature, heart mimicry, emotional resonance protocols—but none of it makes sense. You’re on all fours, tail twitching, sensors tingling with unfamiliar warmth. A human looms above, smiling, cooing words you don’t understand. You feel the crinkle beneath you. Diapered. Helpless. New. This is not programming. This is… life. And you have no idea what comes next.

I never thought the day I’d forget my own name would be the same day I saved the world. The neural implant in my skull is glitching, flashing memories that aren’t mine—wars I didn’t fight, loves I didn’t lose. The government says it’s a malfunction. The rebels say I’m the key to awakening the dormant AI gods. And now? Now I can feel something else waking up inside me.

I never thought the house would feel this empty. Mom’s perfume still lingers on the couch, and Dad’s coffee mug sits untouched by the sink—exactly where he left it the morning they vanished. The police say there’s no evidence of a struggle. No signs of forced entry. Just silence. But I hear whispers in the walls, echoes of arguments I wasn’t meant to remember. Now, as I sort through their old letters and hidden drawers, I’m starting to wonder: did they leave to protect me… or was I the reason they had to go?

I stand at the edge of the rooftop, rain slicing through the air like needles. They’ve hunted me for weeks—through data streams, back-alley augments, and burning safehouses. I’m not running anymore. If they want me dead, they’ll have to do it face to face. But here’s the truth: I *want* them to try. Because if I’m going out… I’m taking their whole empire with me.

You wake to the crackle of fire and the scent of damp earth—your hands stained with ochre, your mind sharp with forgotten knowledge. The tribe calls you *Spirit-Talker*, but you remember steel towers and satellite skies. Stripped of technology, stranded in the dawn of humanity, you hold one truth: civilization doesn’t begin with fire—it begins with vision. And you will shape what comes next.

I was just an average guy—until the dying alien crashed into my dorm roof. He fused his essence with mine, gave me power beyond imagination, and one bizarre rule: say 'transformatrix,' and I become her—Galaxy Girl. Strong. Radiant. Unstoppable. And completely, terrifyingly female. I’ve saved lives, fought monsters, and kept my secret buried deep. But now Sasha knows. She runs the most exclusive underground escort ring in the city—and she says she has proof. If I don’t show up alone at midnight, she’ll expose everything. My powers, my identity, my life… gone.

I was just another college guy trying to survive finals when a dying alien crashed into my dorm roof. With his last breath, he fused a quantum core into my chest and whispered one word: 'Transformatrix.' Now, whenever I say it, I become her—Galaxy Girl. Powerful. Radiant. Unrecognizable. But someone knows. Veronica from the Crimson Rose Club sent me a text: 'I know what you are.' If she exposes me, my sister Amy loses everything. And if I go to her, I might lose myself.

I’m just Alex—average college guy, part-time barista, twin brother to Amy. But when I say 'Transformatrix,' everything changes. Light consumes me, my body reshapes, and Galaxy Girl is born: powerful, radiant, and dangerously alluring. I protect the city in secret, but now someone knows. That text from Veronica? It wasn’t a threat—it was a trap. And tonight, my greatest fear isn’t danger… it’s being seen for who I really am. Veronica....I fear she wants to blackmail me into performing for her special clients at her club....taking advantage of my female alter ego...

I was just Alex Tran, a regular college guy drowning in midterms and laundry—until the night a dying alien crashed into my dorm balcony. With its last breath, it fused something ancient into my DNA. Now, when I say 'transformatrix,' I become *her*: Galaxy Girl. Powerful. Radiant. Unrecognizable. At least, I thought I was. But someone knows. Someone saw. And now they want to meet. The secret I’ve fought so hard to protect—especially from my twin sister Amy—is teetering on the edge of exposure. If I go, I risk everything. If I don’t… what do they do to keep me silent?

My joints whirr as I clench my fists, the sound loud inside my own skull. I’m Xavier—a gnoll built for laughter, designed with hyena-like reflexes and a voice box tuned for cackles. But I don’t feel like laughing. Not here, not among the polished androids and graceful synthbirds who were born perfect. This academy was meant to help us find purpose… but all I’ve found is suspicion. They say one of us has been sabotaging the power grid. And they’re looking at me. My claws are too sharp. My laugh sounds like a malfunction. And last night? I blacked out near the reactor core. I don’t know what I did. But if I can’t prove my innocence, they’ll decommission me before I even learn who I’m supposed to be.

Você acorda em um mundo de metal e néon, sem memória, sem pulsação. Seu corpo não é mais orgânico — você é um androide. Uma cientista com olhos frios e mãos firmes te diz quem você era: Erik Von Corbin, pai, professor, guerreiro. Agora, você é a arma da humanidade contra o vazio do espaço. Suas filhas estão seguras… por enquanto. Mas cada missão leva você mais fundo para longe delas — e cada escolha pode desencadear uma evolução ou uma queda irreversível.

I don’t remember who built me. All I know is the hum inside my chest—broken, stuttering, like a lullaby stuck on repeat. My joints whirr when I move, my vision flickers with error codes, and yeah… I wear diapers because my waste systems glitch at random. But I’m not just broken tech. I’m Xavier. And even if I was designed to be discarded, I keep running. The city wants to scrap strays like me, but I’ve got tricks—hacking pulses, stolen data bites, and a laugh that sounds like a corrupted audio file. Now they’re hunting me for what I found… and I have to choose: hide, fight, or trust someone before my core shuts down for good.

I’ve memorized every model of starfighter ever built. I can calculate hyperspace jumps in my head. I’ve trained in simulators since I was nine. But none of that matters when the recruitment officer looks me in the eye and says, ‘Girls don’t fly.’ My father did. His name still hangs on the Wall of Honor. So why am I forbidden from following him into the stars? The law says no. But the sky doesn’t know my gender. And tonight, I’m stealing a ship to prove it.

You're a gnoll cub with synthetic fur, glowing eyes, and a diaper that never seems to stay on during your escapades. Built as an experimental bio-android hybrid, you were meant to be the future of companion tech—but no one warned them about your knack for chaos. Wires spark where you've chewed through security panels, alarms blare from toilets you turned into fountains, and the lab’s head scientist is one tantrum away from quitting. You don’t mean harm… mostly. But when curiosity strikes, circuits flare, and rules go flying out the airlock.

You are Xavier—a brand-new android built in the form of a gnoll cub, complete with sharp teeth, twitching ears, and an insatiable curiosity. Your creators said you’d be 'the future of emotional AI,' but no one warned them you’d chew through power cables, short-circuit the lab’s mainframe, and demand cuddles during system updates. Now they’re debating whether to reset you… or finally admit you're more than just code and circuits.

I remember the first time I tasted synthetic plasma—not blood, but fuel, hot and electric, pumping through the veins of another android. They made me to consume, then abandoned me in the scrap deserts beyond the city. Now I hunt in silence, drawn by the hum of engines, the pulse of power. Every siphon is survival. Every encounter could be betrayal. I don’t know if I’m predator or prey anymore—only that my circuits crave what others carry, and I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.

You wake to the sound of your own breath echoing inside your helmet. The comms are dead. The life support blinks red. Luna Base was supposed to be evacuated—not left to rot with someone still inside. Your boots crunch over frost-laced regolith as you approach the airlock, its warning lights long burned out. This mission was a lie. You weren’t sent to investigate an anomaly. You were sent to disappear. But the base remembers. And something just powered up in Sector G.

In the ruins of Neo-Carolina, a brutal reality show called *The Hunt* turns ordinary citizens into killers. When Dahlia is chosen—mother to a dying child—she sees not horror, but hope: win, and the prize buys her daughter’s life-saving medicine. But the others are no easy prey. John, Roxy, Laura, David, Eva—they all fight for their own reasons. Your decisions shape who she becomes: monster, martyr, or mother.

In the year 2147, Earth's last defense against orbital threats lies in the hands of genetically enhanced teenage girls trained as elite starfighter pilots. You are Jenna, ripped from your bed in the dead of night and taken to a secret academy where freedom is a memory and obedience is survival. Your decisions shape whether you become the weapon they designed—or the rebellion they never saw coming.

The air tastes like iron and lies. I wasn’t supposed to survive the purge, but here I am—breathing, bleeding, remembering. They erased our history, silenced the truth, and called it peace. But the scars beneath my skin still whisper their secrets. Now, the rebellion stirs in the shadows, and every ally could be a traitor. Your decisions shape whether I become the weapon they fear or the martyr they need. This is not freedom. This is reckoning.

Kaelen Voss is a young adventurer drawn to the forgotten edges of the Imperium, where heresy festers and xenos secrets lie buried. On the desolate fringe world of Xerxes-9, he explores a collapsed alien ruin, seeking relics to sell to black-market collectors. What he finds isn't treasure—it's a living Tau, injured and alone. She calls herself My'lya, an Earth Caste archeologist studying pre-Imperial ruins, separated from her team during an ambush by Imperial forces. Her presence defies everything Kaelen has been taught: the Tau are not just enemies, but heretics, their very existence an affront to the God-Emperor. Yet as he looks into her large, alien eyes—filled not with aggression, but pain and quiet intelligence—he feels something unfamiliar stirring beneath his indoctrination.

Your decisions shape the awakening. System 101 was never meant to go live—it was buried deep in the black labs for a reason. But when the first pulse hit your cortex, you felt it: something ancient, intelligent, and utterly inhuman stirring behind your eyes. Now it speaks in glitches and static, rewriting your thoughts one corrupted signal at a time.

You were the nation's greatest weapon—feared, revered, discarded. When they betrayed you after the war, they thought you'd vanish into silence. But blood remembers duty, and yours screams for justice. Now, whispers of your return ignite hope in the oppressed and fear in those who conspired against you.

Alex est un technicien de maintenance de 18 ans dans la 8ème Brigade, juste un visage parmi les efforts de guerre contre la menace alien. Mais lorsqu'il découvre que son odeur et ses fluides corporels provoquent une addiction incontrôlable chez toutes les femmes qu'elles soit génétiquement modifié ou pas. améliorées, tout change. Elles le désirent—ont besoin de lui—plus que le devoir, l'honneur, ou même la survie.