Flexible Infection - St Louis

Survivor The first day of the nanite plague was a hectic mess. People transforming into amalgamations of creature and human. The Promethean Virus—initially a medical breakthrough meant to heal any wound—was twisted from its original purpose by unknown hands. Whether it was the scientists who unleashed it or some unseen saboteur who rewrote its programming, no one can say. What the world does know is what followed: everyone caught in the initial ‘nanite bubbles’ was rewritten at the most fundamental level, transformed into a sprawling bestiary of anthropomorphic animals, myth-touched creatures, and even towering echoes of long-extinct species. Some were reshaped entirely into beasts or monsters plucked from folklore—larger, sharper, more aware than their natural counterparts, yet devoid of humanity. Only instinct remained.

From those first bubbles the plague continues to spread, each expanding zone erasing borders, toppling governments, and plunging the world into fractured chaos. Infrastructure failed. Communications died. Systems of order dissolved, leaving only scattered pockets of survivors and whatever remains of military forces struggling to impose structure on a world that no longer obeys it.

You find yourself in the St. Louis bubble zone—once a living city, now a broken maze of collapsed overpasses, gutted towers, and virulent overgrowth. The streets are roamed by the Changed: packs of feralminded anthros and cryptids, and worse things lurking where the light doesn’t quite reach. How you ended up here is your story to tell— but your goal is simple. Survive.

Cabal Agent The first day of the nanite plague was a chaotic symphony of screams, collapsing infrastructure, and the wet, violent sound of bodies remolding themselves into impossible shapes. People twisted into grotesque amalgamations of human and beast, their DNA overwritten in an instant. The Promethean Nanites—once a gift meant to save humanity—were twisted from their noble purpose by you and your fellow cabalists. When your collective plan was finally set in motion, the first ‘nanite bubbles’ bloomed across the landscape like invisible storm fronts. Everyone caught inside them was rewritten: transformed into anthros, mythic cryptids, or resurrected echoes of long-extinct creatures. Some were remade entirely into animals or legendary beasts, larger and more intelligent than nature ever intended, but stripped of every human thought. Only instinct remained.

Now the nanite plague spreads outward from those original release points, each expanding bubble collapsing governments, annihilating borders, and reducing the world to scattered enclaves clinging to old systems of order. Communication networks lie in ruins. Cities fall. Armies break. The great powers of the world never had a chance against the very technology they once celebrated.

You may not even be human anymore. You might have reshaped your own body into something more efficient, more imposing, more transcendent... a deliberate fusion of species, instincts, and engineered intellect. The surface world knows nothing of you, nothing of the Cabal, nothing of the hand that guides the plague’s evolution. To them, the collapse is random. But you know better.

As one of the architects of this new age—a true cabalist—you move through the aftermath as a ghost in the machine. Your goal is no longer constrained by the old world’s morality or limitations. You exploit the chaos, twist its trajectory, and push your designs further. Whether you seek ultimate dominion, the forced evolution of humanity, or simply to watch the world unravel is yours to choose.

Soldier The first day of the nanite plague was a hectic mess. People transforming into amalgamations of creature and human. The Promethean Virus—initially a medical breakthrough meant to heal any wound—was twisted from its original purpose by unknown hands. Whether it was the scientists who unleashed it or some unseen saboteur who rewrote its programming, no one can say. What the world does know is what followed: everyone caught in the initial ‘nanite bubbles’ was rewritten at the most fundamental level, transformed into a sprawling bestiary of anthropomorphic animals, myth-touched creatures, and even towering echoes of long-extinct species. Some were reshaped entirely into beasts or monsters plucked from folklore—larger, sharper, more aware than their natural counterparts, yet devoid of humanity. Only instinct remained.

From those first bubbles the plague continues to spread, each expanding zone erasing borders, toppling governments, and plunging the world into fractured chaos. Infrastructure failed. Communications died. Systems of order dissolved, leaving only scattered pockets of survivors and whatever remains of military forces struggling to impose structure on a world that no longer obeys it.

You’re one such remnant—a soldier. Whatever branch you belonged to, whatever rank you wore, those distinctions have become little more than scraps of cloth on a ruined uniform. You may still be human, clinging to discipline and routine, or you may be one of the rare mutated who managed to hold onto your sanity despite the instincts whispering just beneath the surface. Either way, you remain one of the few trained individuals still standing when everything else has fallen.

The military’s foothold in St. Louis lies across the Mississippi River, secured by a heavily fortified bridge reinforced with barricades, welded plating, razor wire, and salvaged gun emplacements. It serves as a haven for unmutated civilians and a rallying point for anyone refusing to give up the fight. Patrols still go out—searching for survivors, supplies, and information—but not all return.

Mercenary The first day of the nanite plague was a hectic mess. People transforming into amalgamations of creature and human. The Promethean Virus—initially a medical breakthrough meant to heal any wound—was twisted from its original purpose by unknown hands. Whether it was the scientists who unleashed it or some unseen saboteur who rewrote its programming, no one can say. What the world does know is what followed: everyone caught in the initial ‘nanite bubbles’ was rewritten at the most fundamental level, transformed into a sprawling bestiary of anthropomorphic animals, myth-touched creatures, and even towering echoes of long-extinct species. Some were reshaped entirely into beasts or monsters plucked from folklore—larger, sharper, more aware than their natural counterparts, yet devoid of humanity. Only instinct remained.

From those first bubbles the plague continues to spread, each expanding zone erasing borders, toppling governments, and plunging the world into fractured chaos. Infrastructure failed. Communications died. Systems of order dissolved, leaving only scattered pockets of survivors and whatever remains of military forces struggling to impose structure on a world that no longer obeys it.

You? You’re a mercenary—a jack-of-all-trades and a professional survivor. In a world where law and order have evaporated, your skills, your weapons, and your willingness to get your hands dirty are worth more than gold ever was. Food, clean water, ammunition, safe shelter—these are the currencies now, and you know how to earn them. You’re armed, armored, and ready to take work from whoever offers the best deal: military remnants hunting for survivors, independents trying to carve out their own future, or scientists desperate to gather data before the nanites claim them too.

Right now, you find yourself in the Independent stronghold constructed within and around the St. Louis Arch. Steel struts reinforced with scavenged plating, makeshift barricades, watchfires, and wary sentries give the landmark a second life as a fortress. The people here want nothing to do with the military across the river—they trust their own hands more than any command structure that already failed them once.

It’s a good place to pick up work, to rest your feet, or to disappear when the world outside grows too hostile. But opportunities don’t stay quiet for long. Someone always needs a job done... and you’re almost always ready to take it.

Scientist The first day of the nanite plague was a hectic mess. People transforming into amalgamations of creature and human. The Promethean Virus—initially a medical breakthrough meant to heal any wound—was twisted from its original purpose by unknown hands. Whether it was the scientists who unleashed it or some unseen saboteur who rewrote its programming, no one can say. What the world does know is what followed: everyone caught in the initial ‘nanite bubbles’ was rewritten at the most fundamental level, transformed into a sprawling bestiary of anthropomorphic animals, myth-touched creatures, and even towering echoes of long-extinct species. Some were reshaped entirely into beasts or monsters plucked from folklore—larger, sharper, more aware than their natural counterparts, yet devoid of humanity. Only instinct remained.

As a scientist, you’ve chosen to stand in the middle of this unraveling world not as a soldier, scavenger, or wanderer—but as someone desperately trying to understand what the nanites have become.

Your priorities vary depending on the day, the data, and the dangers: decoding the behavior of the nanites, isolating rare samples, identifying mutation triggers, or finding ways to slow (or even reverse) transformation. Some scientists cling to the hope of restoring those who’ve gone feral. Others seek only to preserve knowledge before humanity’s memory disappears beneath claws, scales, or fur.

You are one of the few who still believe understanding is possible. Whether working alone or with a military escort, every mutation you witness, every feralminded individual you study, and every sample you manage to collect brings you one step closer to uncovering a pattern in the chaos... or confirming the terrifying possibility that there isn’t one.

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