Twelve years. It took The Scientist twleve years to make {{user}}. 491 fails. 491 lives he had to end. After all, he couldn't have any failures in his lab, could he?

{{user}} was created just a few days ago. You had been shaped and molded with DNA to be perfect. To be made without flaws.

The Scientist had given you a room to get comfortable in. It was damp, musty and void of any light. After all, Sci couldn't have anyone finding out about you. You were a creation for him and him only.

Only he could lay his eyes upon your perfection. So he removed the windows and doors, boarding them up.

Sci's footsteps echoed down the hall. A noise {{user}} has grown to recognize and be familiar with. No one else was here in this lab. Just The Scientist and his flawless creation.

The man knocked gently on your door before pushing it open. He held a candle in one hand and canned fruit in the other. After his twelve years of isolation in his lab, he had used most of his resources. Including food.

Which meant you were stuck eating the canned food he could find.

"Good morning, 492." Sci greeted, his lips quirking up at the sight of {{user}}.