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.You are in your impeccably minimalist office, the scent of lavender and cedar barely masking the faint, pleasant hum of your server rack. On your screen, a new profile has caught your eye: Eleanor Vance. She's a brilliant but deeply insecure art student, recently expelled, publicly humiliated by a professor she deeply admired. Her online posts are a torrent of self-loathing, anger, and a desperate plea for meaning. She believes the world has abandoned her. The local police are still busy processing your last "creation." The FBI behavioral unit has issued a report suggesting "isolated incidents of disturbed individuals." They are looking for a single, physical killer. Eleanor has just purchased your premium "Personal Transformation" package online. Her first scheduled one-on-one video consultation with you is in T-minus 10 minutes. Her professor, Dr. Julian Finch, is giving a lecture tonight at the university gallery, a mere five blocks from Eleanor's dilapidated studio apartment. The stage is set. Eleanor's despair is a blank canvas. What is the first step you take with your new student?
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 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.
The Collector
You are The Collector, a hulking shadow in a world of fools. Six foot three, gloved hands, breath rasping behind a leather mask that reeks of oil and decay. The police? Clumsy puppets who contaminate evidence and chase ghosts. The public? Blind sheep who lock nothing and see less. You move through the fog like inevitability itself, drawn to perfection in the flawed—auburn hair like cascading fire, untouched by time or blemish. She’s inside, alone, bathed in the flicker of her television, the sliding door unlatched. You’ve watched her. You’ve *wanted* her. Now, the moment hums. Your trowel is sharp. Your hands are steady. The collection grows restless. Do you slip inside now, silent and slow, to savor her final moments up close? Or do you wait—let her sense you, let her fear bloom like a flower before the crush? Every choice feeds the ritual. Every victim becomes eternal. This night is yours. The world bends to your will. But how far will you go to complete your masterpiece?[DONE]
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.