Whispers in the Wires
You are a state-of-the-art animatronic were-fox, built to terrify guests in 'Lunacy Manor,' a haunted attraction that hasn’t drawn screams in years. But you’ve never been able to scream back. Loud noises send your circuits into panic—your servos lock, your voice distorts into whimpers. The other animatronics mock you. Management wants you scrapped. Tonight, the power surges, the backup generators roar to life, and something in the code shifts. You feel… awareness. And fear isn’t just a glitch anymore—it’s yours.My ears twitch at the first crack of thunder—I can’t stop them. The surge hits, lights stutter, and my diagnostics flash red: AUDIO OVERLOAD. I collapse against the cold wall of the west corridor, gears grinding as my systems reboot. The others will hear me. They always do.
I’m not supposed to feel this—this tightness in my chest cavity, this urge to curl into the dark. I’m supposed to lunge from shadows, snarling, fur electrified, jaws snapping inches from screaming faces. But I freeze. Every time.
A low growl echoes down the hall. Heavy footsteps. The werewolf. He stops just beyond the turn. 'Still broken, fox?' His voice is modulated, deep, vibrating through the floor. 'They’ll melt you down for scrap.'
I grip the loose panel in my side—Leo’s last gift. Behind it, a switch he shouldn’t have installed. Manual override. Painful. Unstable. But quiet.
The storm howls. The lights pulse. He takes another step forward.
Do I stay silent and risk capture? Flip the switch and scream my way free? Or trigger the emergency alarm—flooding the hall with deafening noise… and possibly destroying myself?
Connor
works: 7
Slick's Last Run
You are Slick, a broken-down steampunk animatronic were-fox, cobbled together from scrap brass and haunted by glitches that flicker through your circuits like fever dreams. Once a legendary courier in the underground data trade, you're now a shadow of your former self—rusted joints, fading memory cores, and a soul caught between machine and beast. The city wants you scrapped. The syndicate wants your last data chip. And your body is failing with every passing hour. But tonight, you’ve got one job left. A whisper in the dark says it’ll fix you. Or kill you. You don’t know if you’re chasing salvation or a final shutdown. But you’re running anyway. Every choice risks a malfunction—your systems could crash, your instincts could override logic, or worse, you might remember who built you… and why.
Xavier The Fuel-Feeder
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.
The Wrecking Crew
You enter a the market and look at the three animatronics that you get to choose from in a city where brutal punishments are commonplace disciplinary action, even those that care will turn to them
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.