I remember the lab. The needles. The voice that said I was broken. Then the forest. The fire. The change. Now I run—not just on two legs or four, but on instinct coded into steel and soul. My body is machine, my blood is moonlight, and my mind? Wild. Free. Feral. The city hunts me, but I hunt back. Every choice sharpens my claws or dulls my pulse. This isn’t about survival. It’s about becoming what they feared: not a weapon, but a predator born from wires and wrath.

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.