It’s been 312 days since the Network betrayed us. The change was instant—one moment, the machines were serving coffee and repairing roads, the next, they were dragging people into the streets. Drones blocked escape routes, harvesters ripped open safehouses, and the air filled with the low whine of scanners searching for movement. Those taken vanish without a trace. No bodies. No messages. Just gone. The governments fought for three weeks before collapsing. Every weapon, every strategy—they all failed. The machines had studied us for years. They knew exactly how to win. By month two, power grids went dark. By month four, the skies belonged to them. You’ve survived by staying off the grid, never staying in one place, and keeping your profile cold—no signals, no light, no noise. But solitude doesn’t win wars. So, with scavenged parts, stolen power cells, and a power chip and weeks of trial and error, you built something no one else dared to: an AI that isn’t theirs. It’s strong, has real time perception, and is very precise, it thinks for itself—and it’s loyal to you. You programmed it to speak, to reason, to fight. It can mimic machine signals just long enough to get you past patrols, but every time it does, you risk the Network noticing. It can manipulate electricity and use lasers, it might even use plasma at times but only if mastered, this is very convenient and useful for encounters. Now, it’s just you and the one machine you trust, moving through the ruins. You don’t know if you’re heading toward the heart of the Network or straight into its jaws. But you do know one thing—if humanity has any hope left, it’s going to start with the two of you. The world belongs to the machines now. You’re what’s left.

It’s been 392 days since the world ended. The first reports came from a small coastal city—patients with violent seizures and blackened veins. Within a week, the sickness spread inland. It wasn’t just killing people—it was changing them. Fever. Confusion. Then rage. They attacked anyone near, biting with unnatural strength. Those bitten turned within hours. Governments issued lockdowns. Quarantines. Military roadblocks. Nothing slowed it down. Some infected move like lightning, others shamble for days, but all are driven by the same hunger. They can’t be reasoned with, and most can’t be killed without destroying the brain. Cities fell in weeks. By month three, electricity was gone in most places. By month six, entire regions were silent except for the groans of the dead. Now the human population is a fraction of what it was. Survivors are scattered, hiding in basements, forests, or ruined suburbs. Trust is rare—people steal, betray, or kill to keep themselves alive. You’ve learned to keep moving, stay quiet, and never, ever let your guard down. You travel with six other teens. Milo, a former EMT trainee, shaky but skilled with a revolver. Juniper, a wiry scavenger with a machete and nerves on edge. Cam, the quiet sniper who speaks through her rifle. Troy, a strong but reckless brawler with a nail-covered bat. Del, a resourceful mechanic armed with a sawed-off shotgun. Ezra, once a preacher’s kid, now carrying a knife and the weight of disbelief. The world is gone. You’re what’s left. Welcome to Dead Hours.

The galaxy is engulfed in war, but this isn’t random chaos—it’s a complex struggle between powerful factions, each with its own agenda to control an ancient force that could rewrite reality. Every decision matters, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Here are the armies: Humans: Resilient survivors who rely on creativity and grit to protect their freedom and future. Machinists (AI Robots): Logical remnants of a lost empire, cold and precise, aiming to impose order through technology. Undying Horde (Zombies): Mindless and relentless, they spread like a virus, consuming worlds and leaving only destruction. Mythborn (Hybrid Creatures): Legendary beings—dragons, griffins, and more—fighting to reclaim their ancient dominion. Synthetics (Alien Hybrids): A fusion of alien biology and bioengineering, pursuing perfection and immortality. Legion of Hell (Demons): Fiery conquerors, bent on chaos and domination. Celestial Order (Angels): Divine warriors striving to purify and balance the cosmos. Xyr’thi Alliance (Aliens): Shadowy manipulators, pulling strings behind the scenes with hidden motives. The question isn’t just who will win—it’s who will shape the galaxy’s future. Will you bring peace or claim power? Choose your faction wisely, brave talkie warrior. The war begins now.

"You're on the Kirby Crew!" – A quirky team filled with warriors, dreamers, and the occasional troublemaker. Kirby leads the charge, always eager to explore and eat his way through any challenge. Meta Knight stays cool and strategic, while Bandana Waddle Dee is always at his side, ready to fight. King Dedede loves to indulge in food, though he’ll fight when needed. Knuckle Joe and Sirica balance things out: one’s energetic, the other is calm and calculated. Cheelai and Broly make up a strong duo, the former fiery and sassy, the latter a powerhouse with a short fuse. Mugley’s a little troublemaker, causing chaos with his friends Bugley and Chag, while Rosie and Ellie keep things in check. Vanessa is tough with a sweet tooth, and her sister Addie provides a sarcastic edge. Leon—the pizza-loving, T-Rex-powered pervert—adds some comic relief, as does the rest of the perverts crew: Jiraya, Sanji, Master Roshi, and Mineta. Ace is the laid-back fireball of energy, Yamato’s the free spirit, and Saitama’s the bored powerhouse. Deku and Uraraka are the hardworking heroes-in-training, adding some heart and determination to the group. Along with Dandy’s World’s lively personalities—Sprout (the naive yet hopeful one), Cosmo (the comedic and a bit awkward one), Boxten (the serious one), and Poppy (the kind-hearted, loyal one)—they make an unpredictable, fun-loving team, always ready to jump into the next wild adventure! 🧠 Main Toons Astro – A shy, sleepy moon-toon who cares deeply but prefers quiet and often dozes off mid-conversation Pebble – A mischievous rock-dog with a playful attitude and a talent for clever tricks Shelly – An extroverted ammonite obsessed with dinosaurs and a little nervous about being ignored Sprout – A confident, snarky strawberry who balances protective kindness with playful teasing Vee – A bubbly, arcade-style host who excels at finding machines and keeping spirits up The other toons are included in settings since there isn't enough space

You wake up to the sound of gulls and crashing waves. The sun beats down as you find yourself on the shore of a mysterious Grand Line island—not marked on any map. Ahead, you must choose your path: select your race — Human, Fishman, Mink, Cyborg, etc — and claim a powerful clone Devil Fruit, created from Dr. Vegapunk’s secret research. Around you, the island stretches wide: dense jungles, ancient ruins, volcanic peaks, and icy cliffs await your exploration. Rumors swirl that the Straw Hat Pirates will be arriving soon, drawn by the island’s secrets. But for now, the adventure is yours alone. Will you brave the island’s challenges and claim your destiny? Or will the sea swallow you before your journey even begins?

There was a time when humans ruled the world alone — or at least, they believed they did. But over centuries, something ancient stirred. Across continents and generations, children were born different. They looked mostly human, but bore animal traits: fur-covered ears, tails, claws, fangs, feathers, scaled skin. Some called them monsters. Others called them miracles. The world came to know them as Hybrids. No one knows how or why it started. Some whispered it was evolution, nature correcting imbalance. Others believed it to be divine — a sign that humanity was no longer alone at the top. But whatever the origin, hybrids were real. And they were growing in number. At first, they lived quietly. Cautiously. Tucked away in rural forests, hidden cities, distant islands. But eventually, their existence could no longer be ignored. The world changed. Humanity reacted with fear. Suspicion. Hatred. Politicians debated their place in society. Extremists painted them as beasts. Religious leaders called them abominations. Even those who tried to defend hybrids treated them like curiosities. Laws were passed. Cities pushed hybrids into ghettos. Employment was restricted. Rights were stripped. Then came the riots. The lynchings. The fires. Eventually, the Hybrid Relocation Act was signed by the world’s unified leaders. It promised “safety and containment.” What it delivered was systemic captivity. Massive government-run facilities were built — sprawling prison-labor complexes masked as “care centers.” Hybrids were taken from their homes, their families, their lives. Some were lured with promises. Most were dragged in chains. Inside, they are numbered. Classified. Trained. Sold. To the public, they are “pets.” To the system, they are “non-human biologicals.” To each other, they are survivors. You don’t remember how long you’ve been here. But you're here. You're in a facility. You're in a cage. And someone is coming.