| |
Neutral
|
Hello everyone, I’m thrilled to officially begin this roleplay with you all! We’ve got an incredible cast, and I can’t wait to see where your characters take the story. Here are a few important reminders to help keep things running smoothly: -
Each in-game day lasts two real-life days. This pacing allows for deeper interaction while giving everyone time to respond. (DOESN'T APPLY WHEN INTERACTION/PLOT POINTS SPAN DAYS) -
Please post at least once every 1–2 weeks. If you're unable to post within that window, just send me a quick message so we can make arrangements or pause your character's involvement as needed. -
Each post should be at least 3 sentences. This helps ensure there’s enough detail to keep the story flowing for everyone. Below is our current roster. It will be updated as new players join or characters are added. Feel free to reach out if you need anything or want to plan interactions!
🟥 Alpha -
Lorenzo "Enzo" — Male, Feline Hybrid (played by Convivial) — (last chatted: 6/12) -
Mikko — Male, Canine Hybrid (played by The Tea Drinkers) — (last chatted: n/a) 🟧 Beta -
Mila "09" — Female, Feline Hybrid (played by SugarPlums) — (last chatted: 6/12) -
Daeva — Female, Canine Hybrid (played by Halcyon) — (last chatted: n/a) -
Null “04” — Female, Aquatic Hybrid (played by Wolf's Bane) — (last chatted: n/a) 🟨 Subject -
Aeris — Female, Insect Hybrid (played by LazyPanda) — (last chatted: 6/11) -
Misha — Male, Avian Hybrid (played by SugarPlums) — (last chatted: 6/12) 🟦 Prototype -
Zephyr — Male, Canine Hybrid (played by LazyPanda) — (last chatted: n/a) -
Cryptid “07” — Canine-Reptile Hybrid (played by Sunnysidecove) — (last chatted: n/a) -
Isla — Female, Feline Hybrid (played by mura) — (last chatted: n/a) -
Finn — Male, Aquatic Hybrid (played by King Salty) — (last chatted: n/a) 🟪 Rejected -
Rowan — Male, Feline Hybrid (played by mura) — (last chatted: n/a) -
Vern — No gender (they/it), Avian Hybrid (played by Alyse) — (last chatted: 6/12)
Thank you all again for joining! I’m really excited to build this story with such a creative group. Let the Institute games begin. 🧬 — SugarPlums |
|  |
|
| |
Neutral
|
[🧬 SYSTEM NOTICE: DAY 43 – ADAPTATION PHASE ACTIVE] "Subjects, report to your assigned sectors. Obedience is survival. Resistance will be corrected." The morning alarm screeches through the halls—harsh and synthetic. Fluorescent lights flicker on in perfect sync. The scent of antiseptic burns your nose before you even open your eyes. It's just another day in the Institute. You’re not new here. You’ve endured the injections, the convulsions, the pain of your own body turning foreign. You’ve clawed through fevers, lost memories, and watched others disappear—rejected, reset, or disposed of. Now, you’re expected to perform. Some are herded into Combat Training—blades drawn, powers flaring, scientists taking notes behind shatterproof glass. Others are scheduled for Behavioral Assessment, Observation Chambers, or the dreaded Resetting Wing. A few of you are already in the corridors—escorted by handlers or watching the world from behind reinforced dorm glass. You might be a prized Alpha, a volatile Prototype, or a fading Rejected clinging to scraps of freedom underground. Tensions are rising.
There are whispers of a breach.
Of tunnels beneath the Sub-Basement.
Of a rebellion. Today might seem like any other—cold, brutal, routine. But today, everything starts to change. What is your subject doing when the alarm rings? Where are you assigned? Who do you trust—if anyone at all? The Institute watches. Begin. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Misha POV:
As usual, Misha couldn’t even wait until after breakfast to stir up trouble. Mischief clung to him like a second skin, and today’s chosen victim was none other than Endo. Towering, stoic, and always trying to keep the peace, Endo practically radiated Alpha energy—a flame that Misha, like an unapologetic moth, couldn’t help but flutter toward. The dining hall buzzed with low conversation, trays clattering as hybrids filtered in for the morning meal. Guards patrolled the walls, eyes sharp but tired, while scientists watched through reinforced glass behind the observation window. Misha moved through it all like a breeze, light on his feet, tray in hand, grin already spreading. He spotted Endo seated near the far wall, surrounded by a respectable bubble of space—the kind naturally given to those who could crush a skull without flinching. Misha beelined straight for him. With the grace of a dancer and the drama of a stage actor, Misha “stumbled” just as he neared the Alpha. His tray tipped, sending a full carton of milk arcing through the air before splashing down across Endo’s chest and lap with an almost comical splatter. Gasps and murmurs rippled through nearby tables. Misha recovered quickly, biting back laughter as he looked up at the larger boy with wide, faux-innocent eyes. “Oh no,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’m so sorry, Alpha. Please forgive me?” His tone dripped with mockery, the smirk that followed anything but apologetic. He lingered there, half-knelt, half-grinning—watching for the reaction, for the crack in Endo’s composure. Because Misha knew exactly what buttons to push… and he was pressing down hard. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Mila POV:
Mila stumbled out of her dorm room, still half-asleep, her long tail dragging behind her with sluggish flicks. The overhead lights felt too bright, her ears twitching at the artificial buzz that always hummed faintly through the Institute’s sterile halls. As usual, she was clinging tightly to the leg of her assigned staff member—a tired-looking handler more focused on finishing his coffee than keeping pace with her uneven steps. Cradled in her free arm was her most precious possession: a ragged, stitched-up stuffed bunny with one missing button eye and faded fur, its seams frayed from constant holding. She pressed its worn body to her chest, fingers gripping its ear as if it grounded her in the chaos of this place. By the time they reached the dining hall, most of the other hybrids were already seated or halfway through their meals. Mila, trailing behind like a sleepy ghost, didn’t bother grabbing a tray. She nestled into the bench beside her handler without a word, curling in close to his side. Her eyes remained unfocused, blinking slowly as if still trying to wake up—or wishing she hadn't. “Come on,” the staffer muttered under his breath, nudging a tray in her direction. “You have to eat something, Mila.” He’d said it a hundred times before. She didn’t respond. Her ears flicked. Her tail twitched. The bunny in her arms was tucked up to her nose as a small act of defiance. Then it happened. Misha’s loud voice cut through the buzz of the dining hall, followed by the unmistakable splatter of spilled milk. Mila flinched at the sound, her body jolting like a spooked animal. Her wide amber eyes darted toward the commotion just in time to see the smirk on Misha’s face and the milk dripping from Endo’s uniform. She let out a soft yelp—barely more than a squeak—and instantly turned, burying her face against her carer’s side. Her tail puffed slightly, trembling as she clung tighter to both bunny and handler, desperate to disappear. The handler sighed heavily, already used to her skittish reactions. He rolled his eyes and gave her head a half-hearted pat, muttering, “You’re fine, Mila. It’s just another breakfast. No one’s going to hurt you.” Still, he shifted slightly, his body a familiar shield between her and the chaos. Because even if he was tired of her emotional outbursts, even if he didn’t quite understand her, Mila was his subject. And there were worse things in this place than a scared little hybrid hiding from the world. The younger staffer had barely spoken when the older handler snapped his tablet shut with a quiet click. He didn’t look angry—just tired. The kind of tired that came from repeating the same morning routine a hundred times with little success. But routine was routine, and Mila not eating wasn’t an option—not anymore. “All right, enough of this,” he muttered under his breath, turning to face her more fully. “Mila, up.” She flinched at the shift in his tone—not cruel, but sharper, more commanding. Slowly, she turned her face toward him, her amber eyes rimmed with sleep and unease. Her bunny remained pressed to her chest, like armor. “I said up,” he repeated, nudging her tray closer with one hand while the other reached around to gently, but firmly, tug the bunny away from her face. “You need to eat. You don’t have to like it. But you will do it.” Mila’s lower lip trembled slightly, but she didn’t protest. She just stared at the muffin, then back up at him with a pleading look that almost said please don’t make me. “You’re not going back to your room until I see at least three bites,” he added, voice softer now, but not backing down. “You want your routine? Then cooperate with mine.” Still silent, Mila blinked slowly, clearly weighing her options—or maybe just trying to stay composed. She lifted her hand and broke off the tiniest piece of the muffin, placing it carefully in her mouth. It was barely a crumb. Her handler raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a bite. Try again.” She did, this time a bit more. A real bite. Chewed, swallowed, paused. “That’s one.” Mila gave a little sigh, ears drooping slightly as she took another. And another. By the time she reached the third bite, her tail had curled around her leg, twitching slightly with every swallow. Her handler reached out, placing the bunny gently back in her lap. Her arms wrapped around it instantly. “See? Not so bad,” he muttered, tone gruff but a little softer now. “Keep going if you want, but three’s good enough. You did fine.” He picked his tablet back up and resumed typing, as if the exchange had never happened. But Mila didn’t move right away. She sat quietly, bunny tucked against her, muffin slowly crumbling in her fingers. For now, she’d eaten. For now, that was enough. And in this place, “enough” was often the closest thing to peace. |
| |
|
| |
Lightbringer
|
Like most days Vern sleept in but when they awoke the once silent cave's underneath the institute were filled with high piched rambleings that woke up anyone who might hear them. "He he he.. PERFECT" they squawk after finding a large rock. Over and over and over again vern jump's from the rock glides, lands and repeat's giggling all the while. once the rock is practicly bathed in sweat for once vern isent rambleing there just sitting on the ground huffing and puffing, if someone didn't know better they would think vern had ran a merathon with how hard there breathing was. soon vern would take a nap and the caves would be silent again unless something interups... |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Aeris Mori | F | Moth Hybrid ── Aeris had to be practically dragged out of bed by her handler. She was becoming more nocturnal day by day and it was harder to wake up in the mornings after being awake most of the night. Hesitantly, Aeris left her bed and headed after her handler. Her room was darker to accommodate her mutation better and yet she was still expected to be awake at that time. The harsh lighting hurt her eyes and she winced slightly as she stepped out into the bright hallway. She could sense the chemicals in the air, drifted up from some of the scientist's labs. It smelt like chemicals too but it was home, wasn't it? "Come along, Aeris," her handler muttered, more focused on the tablet in his hands. "We're still in the process of sorting out your new routine but don't worry. Soon you'll be able to stay asleep in the mornings." Aeris nodded. Her handler had recently been changed for some unknown reason and it unsettled her. Her old one had a mutual understanding with her and Aeris trusted her. This new one was younger, probably a newer member of the staff, and let Aeris make too many decisions on her own. "Need to build your confidence," was what he said each time. Aeris was still as doubtful and indecisive as ever. He was, however, more on the cheery side. This, and this alone, was the only reason Aeris wasn't too nervous with a new handler. The Institute knew that. They knew a lot of things. She didn't mind. By the time they reached the dining hall, Aeris was stuck to her handler's side. "Come on. You need to go get your food." Her big eyes flicked from the hall full of other hybrids to him. She shook her head slightly. After a few more unsuccessful tries to convince her, he sighed and went to collect a tray for her. He was starting to realise that Aeris was probably never going near others if possible. Unless it's Misha. He was the only people that Aeris tolerated enough to be around. Speaking of Misha, he was already causing his daily dose of trouble. Turning her head, she just caught him spilling milk all over Enzo's uniform. Aeris froze. An Alpha subject. How did Misha have the confidence? He would have to teach her a thing or two one day. Just then, her handler returned with a tray in hand and led her to a seat near the edge of the hall. Slowly taking a bite of a strawberry, she looked around the hall. Don't make eye contact with anyone, don't make eye contact... She silently reminded herself. Those were terrible moments of awkwardness where Aeris wished she could disappear into the ground. "After breakfast you've got to spend some time in the Observation Chamber. It's been a while and they'd like to reassess your hybridisation progress. Okay?" "They" meant the Institute. The scientists. He said okay a lot. And fancy, long words too. She nodded despite panicking internally. She hated it in there. It was scary to know that someone was watching you but you couldn't see them. Not properly at least. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Misha's POV:
Still laughing to himself about the chaos he’d caused—the spilled milk, Enzo’s silent fuming, the sharp intake of breath from nearby onlookers—Misha swaggered across the dining hall like a cat who just knocked something off a shelf on purpose. The gleam in his eye hadn’t faded, and he moved with a self-satisfied bounce in his step, every bit the pest he enjoyed being. Before Enzo could even open his mouth to retaliate, Misha had already turned away with a lazy smirk and wandered toward a smaller table near the edge of the room—where a familiar face sat stiffly: Aeris, the new girl. Or as Misha liked to call her, “the moth.” He plopped down beside her without invitation, his tray clattering softly against the metal tabletop. "What are you up to, newbie?" he drawled, resting his elbow on the table and leaning toward her, chin in hand like they were old friends. Aeris didn’t answer—at least not immediately. Her wings twitched faintly behind her, too delicate for this place, and her posture was tense like she was already bracing for whatever jab came next. From across the table, her assigned caregiver shot Misha an unimpressed glare. “Keep moving, Mish,” the man grunted, barely looking up from his data logs. His tone was dry and annoyed, like this wasn’t the first time today Misha had inserted himself where he wasn’t wanted. Misha didn’t flinch. He turned his attention to the staffer with a mock-innocent smile. “What? I’m just trying to bond with my fellow inmates. Isn’t communication important to development?” His voice dripped with fake sweetness. He jabbed a finger against his plastic ID badge, indenting it into his skin slightly. “See? Look at that. I'm practically certified.” He gave up with a small grunt, letting the badge fall back against his chest with a light slap. Then, without missing a beat, he turned back to Aeris and grabbed a muffin off his tray. He took a bite, chewing exaggeratedly slowly before speaking with his mouth still half full. “Gonna answer me, or just keep staring, little moth?” he asked, crumbs dotting the corners of his grin. He leaned back in his seat as if entirely at ease, legs stretched under the table like he owned the place. Aeris still hadn’t spoken. But her wings had curled in tighter around her shoulders. Whether from nerves, irritation, or discomfort, he couldn’t yet tell. But Misha liked a challenge. And he wasn’t about to stop now. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Edited at June 11, 2025 06:58 PM by SugarPlums
|
| |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Enzo: Everyday started the same, the bright fluorescent lights flickered on in his quarters as the facility began to wake. The room was bare and white, reminiscent of a hospital room, with cameras in each corner keeping a keen eye as he slept. He fought his way up to here, training himself and proving himself useful to the Institute. He was feared, respected, and he knew it. Enzo brought his hand through his hair as he woke up, sitting forward and preparing himself to get ready. His outfit mirrored many of his others, a black dress shirt, dress pants, and a pair of combat boots accompanied by gold earrings and a chain. It complimented his bronze skin, golden furred ears, and his spotted tail. A small knock at his door caught his attention. "Uhhh... Lorenzo....Alvarez? Number 24? Its time for breakfast." His handlers changed out every few weeks, many wished to work with other subjects or simply didn't feel safe around him. Its not like he did anything to scare them, it was the control he had of his abilities and the potential that they feared. He opened the door gently and followed the young man to the cafeteria. After picking his breakfast, hard boiled eggs and bacon, he sat by the wall while his handler went off on his own to do business. Many of the staff trusted him on his own, as long as there were cameras watching him, and they took any chance they could to get away. He sat alone on the bench, watching the other experiments as they scooted in their seats, visibly uncomfortable. He didn't say a word, but his pupils dilated, thinning and widening as he watched. They landed upon one individual in particular, a lower ranked experiment with confidence twice his own size. Enzo felt a chill run up his back the closer the boy got to him, a reminder of his newfound instincts and the control he had to achieve. A sudden burst of coldness shocked him as the other male forced a stumble. He didnt move. Enzos pupils shrunk to the size of a thin crescent moon, his fluffy ears. As his pupils shrunk, the world surrounding him became darker and his breathing heavier. He could hear the murmurs, everyone wondering what he would do. But he'd keep his composure. As his jaw tensed, he took a breath, and stood in front of Misha. Looking down at the boy, he instinctually let out a soft grumble, indistinguishable between a purr or a growl. Before he could react, the boy was gone. Enzo was somewhat thankful. It was easier to keep control when the thing he wanted to rip apart wasn't standing in front of him. Enzo walked from his seat, still obviously pissed, ears still twitching. He shoved his tray off the table as he walked away, creating a loud crash behind him. Enzo planned to walk straight back to his room to change before he'd return to training and hopefully diminish the anger this bird had caused him. |
|  |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Misha POV:
Still lounging beside Aeris—whose stiff posture and twitching wings betrayed her growing discomfort—Misha didn’t let up. His attention drifted lazily, like a predator who enjoyed playing with his prey before going in for the real jab. He took another bite of muffin, crumbs clinging to his fingertips, and slowly turned his gaze across the room. Right back to Enzo. Locking eyes with the Alpha, Misha’s expression shifted from lazy boredom to razor-sharp provocation. That same maddening grin spread across his face—wide, unapologetic, and infuriatingly smug. He raised his muffin like a toast, still chewing. “Might wanna clean that up, Alpha,” he called, voice carrying just enough to catch attention without raising alarms. “After all... aren’t you guys supposed to be presentable?” His eyes flicked down deliberately to Enzo’s shirt, where streaks of milk still clung to the fabric like a badge of humiliation. Then back up, full of mock-concern. “Wouldn’t want the scientists thinking their precious Alpha’s a slob.” He tilted his head, smile widening. “Or worse, clumsy.” There was a tension in the air now—just subtle enough. A spoon paused mid-air at a nearby table. A Beta hybrid looked up from their tray, eyes flicking between the two. Even one of the guards by the door shifted his weight slightly, hands brushing the baton clipped at his belt. Misha thrived in it. He stretched back in his chair, arms behind his head, posture loose and utterly unbothered. “But hey,” he added, feigning sympathy. “Milk’s a good look on you, really. Kinda softens all that brooding Alpha energy. Makes you look… approachable.” He didn’t even blink. Didn’t flinch. He just smiled wider—waiting. Watching. Daring Enzo to break first. |
| |
|
Winter Month: 2 
Night 
Fog Moon: 
