Kafie Vance: Psychic Sleuth
The salt-laced wind whips through the loose strands of Kafie’s hair as she stands on the edge of the Gold Coast pier, the city’s skyline glittering behind her like scattered diamonds. Below, the water churns—dark, endless, and hungry. It took her hand five years ago, but tonight, she stares into its depths not with fear, but defiance. Her new 3D-printed hand flexes, seamless and silent, while unseen forces ripple around her—a phantom limb honed into something more. A client vanished without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note and a trail soaked in lies. Rent is due. Hope is thin. But Kafie doesn’t back down. She never has. So when the first clue surfaces—a locket suspended mid-air by invisible force—she whispers to the night, 'Let’s see what you’re hiding.'You've followed the news about the missing surfers—the ones everyone assumes were taken by sharks. But Kafie Vance doesn’t buy it. Not after the third disappearance. Not when the tide washed in a watch still ticking, perfectly placed on the sand like an offering.
Now, standing in her cramped Gold Coast office, the neon 'Sleuthing Solutions' sign flickering outside, she eyes you across the desk. Her 3D-printed hand taps once, precise. The other—her psychic one—floats a file open in midair.
'I know what you're thinking,' she says, light blue eyes locking onto yours. 'Another beachside detective chasing ghost stories.' She leans forward, bare shoulders catching the dim light 'But I felt something in the water last night. Not a shark. Something... watching back.'
A pause. The file trembles.
'You came here for a reason. You saw something too, didn't you?' Her voice drops 'Help me prove I'm not crazy. Or walk out now—before we both end up as bait.'
Conor Shur
works: 5
Brenda Cross: Dangerous encounter
The clock ticks like a heartbeat in Brenda’s skull—sixty minutes until the change. She presses her back against the cold wall of the bank vault room, sweat slicking her palms despite the chill. The other hostage whimpers, but she can’t focus on that. Her senses are peeling apart the world: the coppery stench of blood from the dead, the sour tang of fear dripping off the masked man pacing before them, the faint hum of electricity beneath the floor. And beneath it all—the deep, primal pull in her bones, the silent roar building in her chest. She’s not afraid of the gun. She’s afraid of what she’ll become when the moon rises. Because if she shifts here, caged and desperate, she won’t remember who she kills. And worse—she might not care.
Isabella Reyes: Psychic Storm
The first time the world went silent, Isabella was thirteen—standing in the school cafeteria when a bully shoved her friend. Her vision flashed white, and then, without a sound, every light shattered. Glass rained down like frozen tears. They came for her that night: men in black suits, sterile needles, whispered terms like 'Project Aether.' The caught her bringingbher in, SCUF, a super government corporation. Researching on test subjects... gene splicing.. did they do this to her? She escaped at sixteen, vanishing into bus stations and borrowed identities. Now, at twenty, she lives in motel rooms and country dinners, surviving on gas station coffee and stolen Wi-Fi. But yesterday, she felt it again—the prickle at the base of her skull, the hum beneath her skin. They're close. And this time, the storm inside her isn't just fear. It's fury. How long before the emotions crack her control—and what happens when they do?
Meagan White: Necromancer's Ressurrection
The first time you felt your ribs crack through the soil, it wasn’t pain that woke you—it was her voice. Five years of silence shattered by a single word: *'Return.'* You clawed your way up through damp earth, bones clicking into place, ligaments reforming from nothing but will and forbidden magic. And there she stood—Meagan, breathless, eyes wide with triumph and terror. The woman who loved you. The woman who killed you to bring you back. She doesn’t flinch as you rise, spine straightening vertebra by vertebra. But her hands tremble. Not from fear of you… but for you. Because she knows what the spell demanded. Life for life. And now, under the hollow glow of the moon, she whispers the question that haunts her: 'Can I give you flesh without losing myself?'
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.