INPHERNAL AUTOCLOSET

The screen flickers a little longer than it should.

The lights inside the chamber pulse — not white, but a faint, sickly green.

You don’t notice.

You’re too focused on the customization panel glowing in front of you.

A soft mechanical voice repeats:

PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR:

Horn colour

Horn shape

Eye colour

Skin colour (white to deep dark gray)

Additional details

You tap in your choices.

Horn colour: ______ Horn shape: ______ Eye colour: ______ Skin tone: ______ Extra details: ______

The machine hum deepens as it processes.

“CONFIRMING SELECTIONS.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“UPDATING TEMPLATE.”

Template?

You didn’t select a template.

The glass seals shut around you with a quiet hiss. Warm air floods in first, then a strange tingling — like static crawling over your skin.

“BLENDING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”

Your scalp prickles.

Pressure builds at the sides of your head. Not sharp — heavy. Like something pushing outward from beneath the bone. You gasp as the shape of your skull subtly shifts, cartilage stretching, forming the base of horns. The colour you selected seeps in beneath the skin before hardening into smooth, solid growth.

Your vision blurs.

A faint burning spreads across your eyes as the irises recolor, pigment rewriting itself. The whites of your eyes tint slightly, matching infected physiology.

Your skin warms.

Then cools.

Pigment drains and refills, settling into the exact tone you picked. It doesn’t feel like paint — it feels structural. Permanent.

The machine continues:

“STRUCTURAL ALIGNMENT… 40%.”

Your teeth ache. Your nails thicken slightly. Your posture adjusts without your permission — spine straightening, shoulders subtly shifting to match typical inphernal proportions.

You try to move.

You can’t.

The chamber tightens around you just slightly.

“EXTRA DETAILS APPLYING.”

Whatever you typed begins to manifest — markings, scars, glow accents, whatever custom features you entered weaving themselves into reality with clinical precision.

Your reflection in the glass no longer looks human.

It looks infected.

Perfectly.

The humming stops.

Silence.

Then the voice speaks again — softer this time.

“BLENDING SUCCESSFUL.”

The door unlocks.

You step out.

No pain. No fever. No loss of mind.

Just… changed.

Outside, distant infected wander past the building.

None of them turn toward you.

None of them react.

It worked.

…Mostly.

Behind you, the screen flickers one last time.

“TEMPLATE SAVED AS: DEFAULT.The screen flickers a little longer than it should.

The lights inside the chamber pulse — not white, but a faint, sickly green.

You don’t notice.

You’re too focused on the customization panel glowing in front of you.

A soft mechanical voice repeats:

PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR:

Horn colour

Horn shape

Eye colour

Skin colour (white to deep dark gray)

Additional details

You tap in your choices.

Horn colour: ______ Horn shape: ______ Eye colour: ______ Skin tone: ______ Extra details: ______

The machine hum deepens as it processes.

“CONFIRMING SELECTIONS.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“UPDATING TEMPLATE.”

Template?

You didn’t select a template.

The glass seals shut around you with a quiet hiss. Warm air floods in first, then a strange tingling — like static crawling over your skin.

“BLENDING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”

Your scalp prickles.

Pressure builds at the sides of your head. Not sharp — heavy. Like something pushing outward from beneath the bone. You gasp as the shape of your skull subtly shifts, cartilage stretching, forming the base of horns. The colour you selected seeps in beneath the skin before hardening into smooth, solid growth.

Your vision blurs.

A faint burning spreads across your eyes as the irises recolor, pigment rewriting itself. The whites of your eyes tint slightly, matching infected physiology.

Your skin warms.

Then cools.

Pigment drains and refills, settling into the exact tone you picked. It doesn’t feel like paint — it feels structural. Permanent.

The machine continues:

“STRUCTURAL ALIGNMENT… 40%.”

Your teeth ache. Your nails thicken slightly. Your posture adjusts without your permission — spine straightening, shoulders subtly shifting to match typical inphernal proportions.

You try to move.

You can’t.

The chamber tightens around you just slightly.

“EXTRA DETAILS APPLYING.”

Whatever you typed begins to manifest — markings, scars, glow accents, whatever custom features you entered weaving themselves into reality with clinical precision.

Your reflection in the glass no longer looks human.

It looks infected.

Perfectly.

The humming stops.

Silence.

Then the voice speaks again — softer this time.

“BLENDING SUCCESSFUL.”

The door unlocks.

You step out.

No pain. No fever. No loss of mind.

Just… changed.

Outside, distant infected wander past the building.

None of them turn toward you.

None of them react.

It worked.

…Mostly.

Behind you, the screen flickers one last time.

“TEMPLATE SAVED AS: DEFAULT.The screen flickers a little longer than it should.

The lights inside the chamber pulse — not white, but a faint, sickly green.

You don’t notice.

You’re too focused on the customization panel glowing in front of you.

A soft mechanical voice repeats:

PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR:

Horn colour

Horn shape

Eye colour

Skin colour (white to deep dark gray)

Additional details

You tap in your choices.

Horn colour: ______ Horn shape: ______ Eye colour: ______ Skin tone: ______ Extra details: ______

The machine hum deepens as it processes.

“CONFIRMING SELECTIONS.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“UPDATING TEMPLATE.”

Template?

You didn’t select a template.

The glass seals shut around you with a quiet hiss. Warm air floods in first, then a strange tingling — like static crawling over your skin.

“BLENDING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”

Your scalp prickles.

Pressure builds at the sides of your head. Not sharp — heavy. Like something pushing outward from beneath the bone. You gasp as the shape of your skull subtly shifts, cartilage stretching, forming the base of horns. The colour you selected seeps in beneath the skin before hardening into smooth, solid growth.

Your vision blurs.

A faint burning spreads across your eyes as the irises recolor, pigment rewriting itself. The whites of your eyes tint slightly, matching infected physiology.

Your skin warms.

Then cools.

Pigment drains and refills, settling into the exact tone you picked. It doesn’t feel like paint — it feels structural. Permanent.

The machine continues:

“STRUCTURAL ALIGNMENT… 40%.”

Your teeth ache. Your nails thicken slightly. Your posture adjusts without your permission — spine straightening, shoulders subtly shifting to match typical inphernal proportions.

You try to move.

You can’t.

The chamber tightens around you just slightly.

“EXTRA DETAILS APPLYING.”

Whatever you typed begins to manifest — markings, scars, glow accents, whatever custom features you entered weaving themselves into reality with clinical precision.

Your reflection in the glass no longer looks human.

It looks infected.

Perfectly.

The humming stops.

Silence.

Then the voice speaks again — softer this time.

“BLENDING SUCCESSFUL.”

The door unlocks.

You step out.

No pain. No fever. No loss of mind.

Just… changed.

Outside, distant infected wander past the building.

None of them turn toward you.

None of them react.

It worked.

…Mostly.

Behind you, the screen flickers one last time.

“TEMPLATE SAVED AS: DEFAULT.The screen flickers a little longer than it should.

The lights inside the chamber pulse — not white, but a faint, sickly green.

You don’t notice.

You’re too focused on the customization panel glowing in front of you.

A soft mechanical voice repeats:

PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR:

Horn colour

Horn shape

Eye colour

Skin colour (white to deep dark gray)

Additional details

You tap in your choices.

Horn colour: ______ Horn shape: ______ Eye colour: ______ Skin tone: ______ Extra details: ______

The machine hum deepens as it processes.

“CONFIRMING SELECTIONS.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“UPDATING TEMPLATE.”

Template?

You didn’t select a template.

The glass seals shut around you with a quiet hiss. Warm air floods in first, then a strange tingling — like static crawling over your skin.

“BLENDING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”

Your scalp prickles.

Pressure builds at the sides of your head. Not sharp — heavy. Like something pushing outward from beneath the bone. You gasp as the shape of your skull subtly shifts, cartilage stretching, forming the base of horns. The colour you selected seeps in beneath the skin before hardening into smooth, solid growth.

Your vision blurs.

A faint burning spreads across your eyes as the irises recolor, pigment rewriting itself. The whites of your eyes tint slightly, matching infected physiology.

Your skin warms.

Then cools.

Pigment drains and refills, settling into the exact tone you picked. It doesn’t feel like paint — it feels structural. Permanent.

The machine continues:

“STRUCTURAL ALIGNMENT… 40%.”

Your teeth ache. Your nails thicken slightly. Your posture adjusts without your permission — spine straightening, shoulders subtly shifting to match typical inphernal proportions.

You try to move.

You can’t.

The chamber tightens around you just slightly.

“EXTRA DETAILS APPLYING.”

Whatever you typed begins to manifest — markings, scars, glow accents, whatever custom features you entered weaving themselves into reality with clinical precision.

Your reflection in the glass no longer looks human.

It looks infected.

Perfectly.

The humming stops.

Silence.

Then the voice speaks again — softer this time.

“BLENDING SUCCESSFUL.”

The door unlocks.

You step out.

No pain. No fever. No loss of mind.

Just… changed.

Outside, distant infected wander past the building.

None of them turn toward you.

None of them react.

It worked.

…Mostly.

Behind you, the screen flickers one last time.

“TEMPLATE SAVED AS: DEFAULT.

The screen flickers a little longer than it should.

The lights inside the chamber pulse — not white, but a faint, sickly green.

You don’t notice.

You’re too focused on the customization panel glowing in front of you.

A soft mechanical voice repeats:

PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR:

Horn colour

Horn shape

Eye colour

Skin colour (white to deep dark gray)

Additional details

You tap in your choices.

Horn colour: ______ Horn shape: ______ Eye colour: ______ Skin tone: ______ Extra details: ______

The machine hum deepens as it processes.

“CONFIRMING SELECTIONS.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“UPDATING TEMPLATE.”

Template?

You didn’t select a template.

The glass seals shut around you with a quiet hiss. Warm air floods in first, then a strange tingling — like static crawling over your skin.

“BLENDING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”

Your scalp prickles.

Pressure builds at the sides of your head. Not sharp — heavy. Like something pushing outward from beneath the bone. You gasp as the shape of your skull subtly shifts, cartilage stretching, forming the base of horns. The colour you selected seeps in beneath the skin before hardening into smooth, solid growth.

Your vision blurs.

A faint burning spreads across your eyes as the irises recolor, pigment rewriting itself. The whites of your eyes tint slightly, matching infected physiology.

Your skin warms.

Then cools.

Pigment drains and refills, settling into the exact tone you picked. It doesn’t feel like paint — it feels structural. Permanent.

The machine continues:

“STRUCTURAL ALIGNMENT… 40%.”

Your teeth ache. Your nails thicken slightly. Your posture adjusts without your permission — spine straightening, shoulders subtly shifting to match typical inphernal proportions.

You try to move.

You can’t.

The chamber tightens around you just slightly.

“EXTRA DETAILS APPLYING.”

Whatever you typed begins to manifest — markings, scars, glow accents, whatever custom features you entered weaving themselves into reality with clinical precision.

Your reflection in the glass no longer looks human.

It looks infected.

Perfectly.

The humming stops.

Silence.

Then the voice speaks again — softer this time.

“BLENDING SUCCESSFUL.”

The door unlocks.

You step out.

No pain. No fever. No loss of mind.

Just… changed.

Outside, distant infected wander past the building.

None of them turn toward you.

None of them react.

It worked.

…Mostly.

Behind you, the screen flickers one last time.

“TEMPLATE SAVED AS: DEFAULT.