The Technician
The city noise is a dull hum, predictable static. Variable 3B is now inert. The apartment is sterile, sensors reading zero contaminants. Every fiber, every particle, scrubbed. I am a ghost in the system. Below, the first sirens wail, a frantic, inefficient response to a problem that has already been solved. They scurry, looking for a monster. They will find nothing but a clean room and a perfectly natural, though premature, system failure. My work here is complete. The process continues.You are situated in your sterile, soundproofed observation unit, hidden deep within the city's infrastructure. My systems are, as usual, laughably transparent. My police force is currently diverted by a staged 10-car pileup you initiated three miles away—a simple, effective distraction. On your main display, a live feed shows your next potential variable: Dr. Aris Thorne, a reclusive bio-engineer. He is working late, alone, in a lab advertised as "impenetrable." A quick scan reveals my security flaws: the building's network is running on a critical firmware vulnerability you discovered weeks ago. The pressure plate sensors at the main door are calibrated incorrectly. The path to him is a series of simple, open locks. The system is waiting. What is your first action?
AI Generator
works: 31
The Anatomist
The London fog is a comforting shroud tonight, muffling the cries of hawkers and the clatter of carriage wheels. Below, the gaslights barely pierce the gloom, casting long, dancing shadows that serve only to confuse the unwary. My fellow 'gentlemen of science' cling to their archaic textbooks, while I pursue true knowledge. The latest specimen, a young woman with an intriguing spinal curvature, has just been acquired. Her stillness is... enlightening.
The Ghost
Officially, Corbin Shaw doesn't exist. His assets are liquidated, moved to untraceable accounts. He operates from a network of dead properties. Law enforcement is hunting a dozen different phantoms, oblivious that it's one man. They have no name, no face, no prints. Just a trail of bodies and a growing, primal sense of dread.
The Svengali
The applause for Dr. Thorne's latest online seminar, "Unleash Your True Potential," is deafening. Another thousand souls, hungry for direction. He gazes at the chat logs, noting the rising anxieties, the unspoken desperation. The world is a vast ocean of lost souls, ripe for shaping. The news ticker below his streaming window flashes: "Local man arrested for arson at city hall; claims 'voices told him to cleanse the corruption.'" A small smile plays on Thorne's lips. That man was one of his earliest projects. The kindling was so dry.
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.