Masked Intent
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.The rain hisses against my mask as I step forward. She turns, gears whirring softly, her chrome-plated face curling into that endless grin. "Hello, friend!" she chirps, the joey peeking out with glowing eyes. My gauntlet powers up—plasma claws extend. This is just a machine. It doesn’t feel. It won’t cry. It won’t beg.
But then why does my hand tremble?
She hops closer, unafraid, joyful. "Let’s play!" The joey giggles—a sound like wind chimes. My HUD flashes: TARGET LOCKED. INITIATE TERMINATION PROTOCOL?
I have seconds to decide how deep the damage goes.
Connor
works: 25
Slick The Feral Prototype
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.
Caged Instincts
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.*
Slick The Feral Prototype
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.
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.