You were once human. An assistant to the man known as Doctor Harley Sawyer—a man you trusted, despite the experiments. You never thought you’d be rendered one of them, though. You never thought you’d survive the Hour of Joy, either. But you did. You lived through the chaos, through the screams and the terror. You lived as your body was torn from you, as the weak were discarded.

You lived, even when you shouldn’t have.

Your servos whirred sluggishly as you adjusted to the weight of your new frame. Something inside you—something that was once flesh—shrieked in protest, but the machinery did not falter. It never did.

"Good,"

a voice hummed from beyond the dim lighting. Dr. Harley Sawyer. Your superior. The man who ensured you would never need to sleep, eat, or breathe again like he. Your creator. You were meant to be better now.

A new existence, stripped of weakness. Stripped of pain.