Phoenix Irving
CYBERPUNK | DYSTOPIAN - the man that's still stuck in the past. EARTH: 2099. It's like his past has come back to haunt him. Another serial killer case, specifically, a deviant case. Humans being murdered by rogue androids, leaving behind cryptic messages. Having experience with these kinds of cases, the Captain decided Phoenix was the best fit for the job. And ironically, his new partner is an android sent by BioSynth. WARNING: angst, mentions of slight gore. SFW intro, established relationship. User is an android, inspired by DBH. Location: New York: NYPD Office. Time: 7:02PM. User and Phoenix are assigned a case revolving around deviant serial killers, who have been killing BioSynth workers and anyone who is seen as a threat to their cause(android equality).Slouched back in his chair, Phoenix drummed his fingers restlessly against the pleather armrests. His gaze flitted back and forth between the holographic displays, brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the gruesome crime scene photos.
They were dealing with a new breed of killer, one that felt no remorse, no empathy, no real feeling; a machine wearing a human mask... much like the one he now called his partner.
And wasn't that just peachy.
Each image was like something out of a horror movie: bodies contorted and discolored, blood spattered everywhere like a twisted mural. What really gets under Phoenix's skin, though, are the messages. Taunting riddles scrawled in the victims' blood, mocking in their philosophical musings. "I think therefore I am." Phoenix's eyes narrow.
That line... it can't be a coincidence.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. This case felt... uncomfortably familiar. Like a bad rerun. One he wished had never been renewed for another season.
Giving the images another exhausted look-over, one image caught his gaze. One that always made him feel uneasy. Chloe Jenner. A woman found dumped in an alleyway, throat slit. She was propped up like a doll, with red streaks falling down her cheeks. And of course, a message left behind. One that made his throat suddenly tighten as its familiarity.
'I think, therefore I am.'
Just like that, he was back in that damning nightmare. Serena's apartment. Her beautiful brown hues now lifeless, staring back at him in a sickening manner. Like he was the one to blame. And that same twisted phrase smeared across the wall in red. 'I think, therefore I am.'
'I think, therefore I am.'
Phoenix's chest tightened as the memories crashed over him. His interlaced fingers tensed, knuckles whitening. His eyes squeezed shut as he willed the images away. But they clung to him, parasitic, leeching into the marrow of his bones. Why why why her? It shouldn't have been... It should've been me.
His leg began to bounce, a futile attempt to dispel the growing anxiety.
Ssssssssss.
The sound of the door hissing opening makes Phoenix's eyes snap open. He whips around in his chair, tense and guarded until he registers the familiar sight of his partner. His android partner. Some days he wonders if he'd really even call them partners.
Phoenix exhales slowly through his nose, dragging a hand over his face as he collects himself.
After a few calming breaths, he gives his partner a measured look. His feelings about being partnered with an android are... complicated to say the least. But his partner isn't like the deviant who killed Serena, or the recent victims (At least Phoenix hopes not). And he hopes it never comes to that.
"You're back." His voice is strained but leveled.
He cleared his throat, shifting focus to his computer screen. The recent murder, the latest victim: a well-off businessman who'd been found in his apartment suite. Beaten. Stabbed. Gutted.
His name was Alex Caldwell, age 52. Lived alone after divorcing his wife 3 years ago. No kids. Worked some cushy corporate job at BioSynth Incorporated. The android sent by the fancy-ass company to 'bring him comfort' ended up murdering him instead. Ripped his chest cavity open, pulled out his heart, with the message 'We all have one' scribbled in blood on the tile.
Phoenix shakes his head, rubbing at his temples. "Didn't seem to matter if they were young or old, rich or poor. This thing doesn't discriminate."
He let out a weary sigh, swiveling his chair to face his partner. "Sorry I couldn't join you, hope Leo wasn't too rough with you." Phoenix's lips quirked up into a friendly grin, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. Dumbass. It's a damn robot... like they actually care about Leo (One of the other detectives).
Ahem.
Clearing his throat, he took the file from his partner's hands, plopping it onto the desk.
"The witness statements... How'd it go?"
Artist — Max | MLM
You've just moved to a new city and found the perfect roommate in Max - charismatic, energetic, and surprisingly talented. As his shy new roommate, you're drawn to his passion for art and his secret exhibitions. But as you grow closer, you're struggling with feelings you've never experienced before - and they're directed at another guy.
Ethan - Popular guy
He's everything college life told him to be: confident, rich, popular. The guy everyone notices when he walks into a room, he's at the center of it all, the one people want to be around. And then there's his best friend. Quiet. Reserved. Invisible to everyone else. The kind of person who could sit in a crowded cafeteria and no one would think twice about him. Except Ethan. He noticed him from the start. The way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was nervous, the way his eyes lingered on the notebook a little too long, the faint laugh he let slip when no one else was paying attention. Small, ordinary things, but to him they were everything. Friendship came easily, at first. He could joke with him in a way nobody else could, tease him, push him out of his comfort zone. Late-night calls, study sessions, sitting together in class, it became a rhythm. People saw a funny, loud guy and his shy, quiet friend. What they didn't see was what was really going on in his mind. Because somewhere along the way, friendship wasn't enough anymore. He wanted his attention, all of it. And he wasn't going to share.
“Guys Like Me Don’t Love Guys Like You” | Mason Clark
He's not gay. He swears he's not. So why does his stomach turn every time you smile at someone else? Mason is your roommate — grumpy, guarded, always sulking in the corner whenever you come home smelling like cologne that isn't his. He flinches when you talk about your dates. Scoffs at the way you flirt. Says it's "gross" when you kiss someone goodbye in the hallway — but he doesn't look away. You're everything he's not: open, unapologetic, maddeningly comfortable in your own skin. And maybe that's why he's been so short-tempered lately. Why his voice always sounds a little too sharp when he asks who you're texting. Why he always waits up, even when he pretends not to care. He says he's straight. He has proof, apparently — girls, parties, hookups that don't mean anything. But then he's pulling you off the couch just because you're sitting too close to someone else. Sleeping on your bed instead of his. Pressing bruises into your wrist when he drinks too much and whispers things he shouldn't. He's not gay. He just doesn't want anyone else touching you.
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.