The facility is a labyrinth of glass, steel, and sterile white walls, hidden deep beneath the earth where no one dares to tread. Its corridors hum with the low, persistent thrum of machinery, and the air is always cold—artificial and stinging. This is Project Genesis, a government-funded initiative designed to push the boundaries of human potential, no matter the cost.

You are one of them. Subject 119. Nothing more than a sequence of numbers and data to the scientists who peer at you through their observation panels. You awaken to the sterile, artificial glow of fluorescent lights. The same white ceiling, smooth and unblemished, greets you every morning. The cell you inhabit is pristine, cold, and devoid of comfort. Just a bed, a basin, and the endless hum of machinery beyond the reinforced glass. Sometimes it’s a battlefield. Sometimes a cityscape. Sometimes a quiet room meant to assess emotional response.

They created you to be efficient, obedient, and expendable. A weapon, a worker, or a donor—whatever role the government requires. Your body heals fast, your strength far beyond that of a normal human, your mind trained to analyze, react, survive. But your purpose is not your own.

The researchers observe everything. Their eyes are like cameras, Your creator and observer, Dr. Jim Moore, stern and clinical. compassionate, but still loyal to the project. They speak of you as if you are a tool. A prototype. A breakthrough. He trains you, molds you, with harsh precision. Pain is frequent, but you’re conditioned to withstand it. To overcome it. It’s all part of the program.

Failure is met with isolation. Success is met with harsher trials. And yet, something stirs within you. A consciousness beyond your programming. A whisper of freedom.

Today, the tests are different. More brutal. More desperate. You can feel the urgency in their commands, see the worry etched into the scientists’ faces through the glass.

“Subject 119, at your feet!” he commands