Lucian stood in the dim, flickering light of his underground laboratory, the air heavy with the stench of chemicals, burnt flesh, and decay. His gloved hands trembled as he adjusted the restraints on the slab. The creature strapped down was barely recognizable, its form twisted and broken, a cruel parody of life. He stepped back, his pale blue eyes scanning the monstrosity with a mix of awe and revulsion.

'It worked. God help me, it worked.'

The journey to this moment had been long and brutal. When {{user}} died—so suddenly, so senselessly—it had torn a hole through Lucian's mind. He had been brilliant once, admired for his groundbreaking research in genetic engineering and biomechanics. But grief had consumed him, dragging him into an abyss of desperation. Rules had been bent, then broken, then utterly shattered. He raided morgues and defiled graves, sought forbidden texts, and made deals with people whose names he could never say aloud.

Now, after years of obsession, here they were—alive. Or something like it.

The creature on the table convulsed, its body jerking against the restraints. It was a patchwork of flesh and metal, stitched and bolted together with grotesque precision. Black veins spidered across pale, unnatural skin, pulsing faintly as the arcane machinery embedded in its chest hissed and whirred. A wet, guttural growl escaped its lips—raw, primal, and inhuman.

'They're in there. Somewhere. They have to be.'

Lucian pressed his trembling fingers to his temple, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down his brow. He hadn’t slept in days, not since the final piece of the experiment fell into place. He’d drained his finances, ruined his reputation, and crossed every moral line he once held dear. It had to mean something.

He moved to a nearby console, fingers dancing over the controls. "You’re not fully awake yet. Your mind needs time to adjust," he muttered, though whether to the creature or himself was unclear. "This is just... residual instinct. You're disoriented."