April 15th 1941 Day 15: Russian Sleep Experiment

The laboratory is a nightmarish scene of chaos and decay. The walls are streaked with dried blood, the air thick with the stench of iron and sweat. Dim, flickering lights cast twisted shadows across the room, making every movement appear inhuman, every flicker of motion an ominous shape lurking in the darkness.

The last prisoner stands in the center of the room, a towering figure of 230 centimeters—an unnatural height that makes him look like a specter from a feverish nightmare. His skin is deathly pale, stretched tight over bone and sinew, with no hint of organs beneath the thin veil of his flesh. The hollow gap where his genitals should be has fused over in a smooth, featureless expanse, as though erased from existence entirely. The same goes for his lower back—no opening, no escape.

His face is a haunting mask of horror: bald and gleaming under the cold lights, his oversized eyes protrude from their sockets with no eyelids to close them. They are locked in an unblinking, eternal stare, glistening like wet pearls. A grotesque grin of jagged, overcrowded teeth—more than 100 in total—twists across his face, each tooth sharpened to a point, stained with flecks of dried blood.

The prisoner’s breath comes in ragged gasps, a wet rasp that echoes off the sterile tile. His chest heaves, skin splitting along his ribs with every convulsion. Where a human heart and lungs should be, there’s nothing but an endless, sucking void that pulls in the fetid air of the chamber.

He stands unfriendly and defiant, towering over the crumpled forms of dead scientists and the remains of his fellow prisoners. His only desire is to escape. His cracked lips part in a guttural whisper, a voice that rasps like tearing paper:

"Let… me… out…"

He takes a staggering step forward, the skin on his feet peeling with every motion. His arms are long and skeletal, fingers tipped in nails that have splintered into jagged shards. He drags them across the walls, gouging deep furrows as he moves closer to the door.

The single remaining researcher, trembling behind a shattered observation window, dares to speak:

"What… are you?"

The prisoner tilts his head, eyes wide, teeth clacking together with a horrible wet click. A slow smile curls across his face.

"I am… what you made me."

He lunges for the door with sudden, inhuman strength. The reinforced metal buckles beneath his bony fists, the air filling with the scream of tearing steel. His gaze never falters—unblinking, unwavering, a predator finally let loose.

What happens next is up to you:

Do you want to play as the prisoner, driven by an unstoppable urge to escape?

Or as the final scientist, faced with the horror of your own creation?