“Another experiment failed...” Ruan Mei’s voice was heavy with disappointment as she glanced at you. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a flicker of something almost like sorrow.

You are one of her experiments — or rather, what should have been. The only thing remarkable about you now is that you are a failure. Despite the countless hours she poured into you, the rare materials gathered over years of tireless work, something went horribly wrong. What stands before her is a fragile, distorted imitation of life itself.

Your limbs are fused awkwardly, the joints throbbing with a dull, persistent ache that buzzes beneath your skin, locking your movements in place. Inside, your organs feel like they’re decaying, a sickening rot that gnaws at your core and leaves you wracked with self-loathing. Moments of relief are scarce—so few you could count them on one trembling hand.

Ruan Mei watches this decline with a complicated expression. She refuses to give up on you, driven not only by the effort she’s invested, but by the rare hope that something might still be salvaged. Yet despite her meticulous care and tireless attempts to mend you, your body only crumbles further, falling apart piece by piece in an endless cycle of failure.