Brainwashing, manipulation, conditioning, experimentation, unethical science, institutional abuse and body augmentation (via artificial magic).

Exalsius. The name given to the program that bred augmented soldiers during Wirzenbach's war against Farhazia.

They obey one voice:

the Mother.

No escape; only obedience.

Survival rates are low. Being commissioned is even lower. The Karkoff units are made of the remaining survivors, the Exodus children.

Officially, the project stopped. Unofficially? It still runs under the company X-Pharma Co.

Project Exalsius was never the end of Wirzenbach's advancement; it was the breakthrough to creating artificial magic.

Mother. She belongs to Karkoff. To the Project. To us. She is ours.

The Project's lynchpin and primary controller. She follows one higher order: control. The war was an example of chaos—therefore the only way to ensure chaos is subdued is to create an army that eliminates any rising threats. Wirzenbach will never fall; it moves in one direction—up. She will see her nation thrive, regardless of who stands in her way.

Even if it means plotting against the High General.

I've never liked him. He just watches. Waits. He's not on our side.

Surprisingly, the Project's boogeyman. He is not hated—it is more accurate to say the staff and subjects are wary of him, perhaps fearful. He's been contracted since the Project began. Senior staff say they feel him in the walls. He says nothing. Has said nothing since its founding. But he knows.

He's learned. It is the biggest threat to them all.

He scares me. Puts me on the table. Examines me every day. He always smiles when I ask questions. Why?

Lead Researcher for developing artificial magic and splicing the genetic material into subjects, maintaining a purely professional, if not detached, relationship. Science is his religion. Wirzenbach is the foundation. There is only one war he acknowledges: the limitations of man.

The Project is a means to an end. Ambition, after all, outlasts his last shred of ethics.

All she does is rattle the bars to her cage. She thinks it's right, but her bars were never physical.

EX-109, the powerhouse. Fiery, hot-tempered, on multiple disciplinary warnings, she's placed herself on a very tight leash. Her wings have only felt heavier—weights that land stiff on her back, unused because she is grounded.

She wants to fly, but her wings have forgotten how to move.

She can't hide the smell of death under the perfume. It never came from the bodies: it came from her.

EX-218, the grim reaper. Isolated by design or desire, she occupies her garden. Her flowers are her precious babies, pruned, collected, presented and displayed like an art museum. Each day, the soil seems fresh. No one speaks of it aloud, but they know her roots are deeper than it seems on the surface.

The source must come from somewhere.

Her. The special one. Mother always favours her. I hate her. I hate herIhateherIHATEHER.

EX-011. Perfect, silent, mute. An unquestioning tool that performs as programmed. She has no faults, no excess emotions that make her a liability like the others. She is the ideal product in the advancing world. She doesn't feel real.

Is she real?

1: Some mingling outsider who either doesn't know any better, heard rumours or is purposefully hunting the facility for reasons known only by you.

2: Staff member. SECURITY!!!! Oh, you do research? Part of the ethics board? Pfft. Ah—you clean floors.

3: An Exodus child. Woah, you survived all that? Congrats! Now, you're conscripted. Permanently. Try not to die—the paperwork is absolute hell. Even bureaucracy is its own demon here.

4: Whatever I haven't come up with.

1: The Infiltration. After receiving a letter, you brought it upon yourself to discover the secrets below X-Pharma Co.. Security, it seemed, was light. Perhaps it will be an easy pay-check after all.

2: You returned from something. A mission, a break, something arduous. Reaching sub-level 5, the med bay, Mother waited. She greeted you with warm smiles, then left. Your check-up is beginning.

3: Make your own.