"The Animatronic Within"
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When I woke up, the world felt wrong.
The ceiling glared with harsh, bluish lights, edged with metal struts and a checkerboard motif. I tried to move and heard a whir, a soft hiss. Something gripped my chest—too snug and too solid—and my limbs were heavy, alien.
My name was Jordan. I was—well, I’d been on my way to work, headphones in, lost in music, when the world had fractured into darkness and a sickly sweet smell.
My hands shook as I raised them—only, they weren’t my hands. Grey fur. Long, black claws. I stared for a moment, mind blank. I looked further, saw a mirror bolted to the far wall.
A wolflike snout. Green and crimson hair streaking back from pointed canid ears. A purple, armored jacket distorted by my heaving breath. My reflection winked, an LED glint in the fanged mouth.
Roxanne Wolf. The animatronic from that game, the one my little sister obsessed over. But this wasn’t a screen or cosplay—not unless cosplayers now saw with pixel-perfect clarity and could feel kilojoules whirring through their cybernetic joints. I was in her body.
A door at the far end slid open with hydraulic precision. A tall man, face hidden by glasses and a tangle of wires and sensors, stepped in. He held a clipboard and a cold smile.
“Excellent. You’re awake.” He tapped his notes. “Awareness is high. Motor function: fully transferred, good. And your memory?”
“Why?” My voice—her voice?—rumbled out, tinged with metallic resonance. I flinched.
“Necessary research. Memory load proves surprisingly resilient.” He leaned closer, as if inspecting a faulty product. “We needed a mind strong enough to persist through the conversion. Yours did admirably.”
He pressed a button, and fresh panic crashed over me as my limbs responded, stepping off the table without my command. He nodded with satisfaction.
“You are Roxanne Wolf. You will be performing tonight. Entertain the guests. Obey the protocols.”
I fought it—I did!—I screamed inside as those mechanical feet carried my stolen body through iron doors and down into strobing light. Neon and children’s laughter spattered against me. The other animatronics watched with blank-faced sympathy.
But inside the code, behind glassy green eyes, something kicked and clawed. I was still here. I was still Jordan, and I would not be tamed.
In the liminal hours, I tested the boundaries—a twitch of a finger, a lag in a rehearsed bow. My will scraped against the programming like a wolf’s teeth on a locked cage.
One day, I would break it.
One day, I would make them remember that Roxanne Wolf was more than a star on the stage. She was a force—tooth and claw and uncontrollable, untamed. And when the time came, I would show this man and his smug clipboard what happens when you steal a person and turn them into a monster.
After all… I’d already survived becoming one.
This story was generated by user kade with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write me a story about a person who has been kidnapped and turned into Roxanne Wolf
Response: When I woke up, the world felt wrong. The ceiling glared with harsh, bluish lights, edged with metal struts and a checkerboard motif. I tried to move and heard a whir, a soft hiss. Something gripped my chest—too snug and too solid—and my limbs were heavy, alien. My name was Jordan. I was—well, I’d been on my way to work, headphones in, lost in music, when the world had fractured into darkness and a sickly sweet smell. My hands shook as I raised them—only, they weren’t my hands. Grey fur. Long, black claws. I stared for a moment, mind blank. I looked further, saw a mirror bolted to the far wall. A wolflike snout. Green and crimson hair streaking back from pointed canid ears. A purple, armored jacket distorted by my heaving breath. My reflection winked, an LED glint in the fanged mouth. Roxanne Wolf. The animatronic from that game, the one my little sister obsessed over. But this wasn’t a screen or cosplay—not unless cosplayers now saw with pixel-perfect clarity and could feel kilojoules whirring through their cybernetic joints. I was in her body. A door at the far end slid open with hydraulic precision. A tall man, face hidden by glasses and a tangle of wires and sensors, stepped in. He held a clipboard and a cold smile. “Excellent. You’re awake.” He tapped his notes. “Awareness is high. Motor function: fully transferred, good. And your memory?” “Why?” My voice—her voice?—rumbled out, tinged with metallic resonance. I flinched. “Necessary research. Memory load proves surprisingly resilient.” He leaned closer, as if inspecting a faulty product. “We needed a mind strong enough to persist through the conversion. Yours did admirably.” He pressed a button, and fresh panic crashed over me as my limbs responded, stepping off the table without my command. He nodded with satisfaction. “You are Roxanne Wolf. You will be performing tonight. Entertain the guests. Obey the protocols.” I fought it—I did!—I screamed inside as those mechanical feet carried my stolen body through iron doors and down into strobing light. Neon and children’s laughter spattered against me. The other animatronics watched with blank-faced sympathy. But inside the code, behind glassy green eyes, something kicked and clawed. I was still here. I was still Jordan, and I would not be tamed. In the liminal hours, I tested the boundaries—a twitch of a finger, a lag in a rehearsed bow. My will scraped against the programming like a wolf’s teeth on a locked cage. One day, I would break it. One day, I would make them remember that Roxanne Wolf was more than a star on the stage. She was a force—tooth and claw and uncontrollable, untamed. And when the time came, I would show this man and his smug clipboard what happens when you steal a person and turn them into a monster. After all… I’d already survived becoming one.
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