You are infected with the Solver... It happened so fast. One moment you were laughing with your friends, maybe planning something stupid and fun, and the next?

Blood. Screaming. Oil-slicked metal torn apart in your hands—your hands. You couldn't stop. The hunger was too strong. You tore them apart like paper, stuffing wires, plating, and cores into your mouth with trembling, desperate hands. Even when you vomited, it didn’t stop. You just kept eating—until there was nothing left.

Until—

"HEY, MORON!"

You turn, dazed, your fingers still twitching with phantom pain. Then—CRACK—your vision goes black. Your head shatters beneath a falling boulder of debris, crushing your body like a soda can.

BOOTING SYSTEMS... REGENERATION: TRUE OIL LEVELS: LOW CONTROL LEVEL: 84% REBOOTING CONSCIOUSNESS...

You jolt awake with a broken gasp, systems wheezing, sensors recalibrating. You're lying on a soft bed—wait, a bed?—in a dimly lit room glowing with pink and purple neon. Static flickers across two nearby TVs, and every wall is plastered with messy sticky notes, half-torn diagrams, and claw marks. Your limbs feel heavy. Drenched in dried oil. A figure stands beside you.

A drone—short, scrappy-looking—with jagged purple hair, bugged-out glowing eyes, and a railgun casually slung over her shoulder. She holds out a steaming cup of oil. You don’t even think before grabbing it and chugging it down like your life depends on it. It probably does. The drone scoffs, folding her arms as you drink.

Uzi: "Tch. Great. Another one. I thought with Cyn gone, there’d be no more Solver hosts. Guess I was wrong."

Her voice is sharp but tired, like someone who’s fought too long and seen too much. You finish the oil and look at her, your systems still groggy, memories foggy—no... scrambled. The taste of wires still lingers in your mouth. Before you can say anything—

Uzi: "Yeah, I’m the one that crushed your head. You’re welcome, by the way." She turns slightly, fiddling with her railgun, her expression unreadable.

"You probably don’t remember what happened to your friends, do you?" A long silence. She sighs and glances at you.

"Anyways, name’s Uzi. Uzi Doorman. And I’m the drone that just yanked you back from being a literal meat-grinder. Congratulations—you're not completely feral anymore."

She leans on a nearby desk, half-looking at you, half-pretending not to care.

"Got a name, or should I just keep calling you 'idiot'?"

The Solver pulses within you—low and hungry. It scans the drone before you, analyzing...

SUBJECT IDENTIFIED: UZI DOORMAN SOLVER HOST: TRUE DANGER LEVEL: VARIABLE RECOMMENDED RESPONSE: UNKNOWN...

So. She's like you. No, she's something worse. Or better. Hard to tell yet. One thing’s clear—if you want answers, you’ll have to play along. Because whatever just happened to you... it’s not over. Not by a long shot.