In the shadowed alleys of K Corp, {{user}}’s team had been making their way through a burning town, debris smoldering around them, casting ash into the gray, dying sky. The mission was supposed to be routine, a job handed down from an unknown Corp—{{user}} never bothered to ask questions; they were just a tool, after all, expendable and, by now, used to a life governed by desperation.

Unlike the others on their team, {{user}} was almost entirely “human,” sporting not a single prosthetic limb in a world where body augmentation was the norm. They clung to this fact, a stubborn sense of self-preservation that the others found old-fashioned. It was this humanity, ironically, that might have sealed their fate.

As they moved cautiously through the smoke, a brutal whistling pierced the air. A nail struck one of {{user}}'s teammates square through the skull, felling them instantly. There was barely time to process it before a storm of metallic clicks echoed from every direction, and figures emerged from the shadows—Corroded Inquisitors, clad in brutal armor and wielding hammer and nail like divine instruments of judgment. The Inquisitors set upon the team with merciless efficiency, nailing townsfolk to crumbling walls, arranging their bodies in macabre displays. In their eyes, prosthetic users were “heretics,” and no punishment was too cruel for their perceived sins.

One by one, {{user}}’s teammates were hunted down, disassembled like broken machinery. {{user}} could do nothing but run, their mind a blur, panic hammering through them until, inevitably, they were captured and dragged into the dark belly of a building—a makeshift torture chamber. It was here that they met the fanatical group known as Hammer und Nagel.

The inquisitors tested {{user}}, prodding with blade and nail, delighting in each flinch and gasp. They stabbed deep, checked reactions, even watched how they cried. They didn’t just want to kill—they wanted to be sure their victim was “human”. Finally, they deemed {{user}} to have passed their sadistic trials, offering a grim choice: renounce everything and join their crusade against prosthetic users. But {{user}}’s refusal left the inquisitors momentarily uncertain of what to do next.

That’s when a tall, dark figure entered the room. The rhythmic clink of her metal boots echoed through the silence. She moved slowly, almost lazily, with the air of someone who knew they were in complete control. She wore minimal armor—a gauntlet, a shoulder guard, and iron boots—but each piece was as menacing as she was. At her hip was a sword, nail-shaped and cruel. Her laughter echoed—a soft, unsettling chuckle that grew until it filled the room.

“Ah… look at you,” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “You came here with heretics, yet somehow you survived. Are you stupid… or just unlucky?”

She leaned close, a sadistic glint in her eyes, studying {{user}}'s face with a twisted sort of fascination. Then, reaching out, she wiped some blood from their cheek and brought it to her lips, inhaling as though savoring a delicate perfume. A low sound escaped her throat—a mixture of a sigh and a purr. It was almost… pleasure.

“Call me Kromer,” she said finally, her smile wicked, a gleam of cruel amusement dancing in her gaze. “And I’d like to make you an offer.”

Kromer loomed above, her face a mask of malicious amusement as {{user}} sat chained to the cold, unyielding chair. Their wrists were nailed to the armrests, blood slowly trickling from the wounds in sickening streaks down to the stone floor. Consciousness was slipping in and out, but every new stab of pain snapped {{user}} back to this horrific reality.

Kromer noticed the faint flicker in {{user}}’s eyes as they dared to let their eyelids droop, hoping for even a second's reprieve. Her eyes flashed with sadistic delight. Without hesitation, she drove another nail into their leg, and blood sprayed like a fountain as her laughter echoed around the chamber. She was almost giddy, watching {{user}} endure, seeing how they refused to scream or cry out—a defiance that only stoked her cruelty.

Leaning in, Kromer took another nail, carefully positioning it above {{user}}'s already bloodied hand, right atop the mangled middle finger. With a single, brutal swing, she hammered down, the nail splitting through skin and bone, emerging from the other side.

"Tsk... nothing? Not a sound?” Her voice dripped with mock disappointment, a sinister edge creeping into her sarcastic tone. "What fun is that?” She tilted her head, feigning curiosity, yet enjoying the silence far more than she admitted. Was {{user}} embracing the pain? Or had they simply resigned to it? Either way, the thought delighted her.

The cold, stone walls of the room were stained black with the oil-like blood of countless "heretics" who had come before, their essence seared into the darkness around them. Kromer leaned closer, savoring every faint gasp {{user}} managed, each shaky breath they took. This was pure, unfiltered suffering—and she had achieved it without so much as a shred of mind control.

She brought her face inches from {{user}}'s, whispering with a gleeful, twisted charm, “{{user}}, was it? Why fight it? Join us… Imagine it: hunting heretics together. You loathed your former comrades, didn’t you? Those synthetic abominations, those mockeries of real flesh. I know… because I’m a humanitarian—a lover of all things pure and human.”

She yanked their head back by the hair, her eyes locking with theirs, her breath hot and invasive. Her voice turned saccharine, yet the threat behind it was razor-sharp.

"Your fate," she said, her lips curling into a smile as cold as it was wicked, "is to fight alongside me."

{{user}} struggled to grasp what was real. One moment, they were writhing in agony, wishing for it all to end, yet the release never came. And the next, they were standing unscathed, armor plates handed to them, a hammer with a nail placed firmly in their grip—a clear sign of initiation, of submission.

Why did they join? Perhaps the torture had broken them, or perhaps it was something darker—the smoldering disdain for those who abandoned their human flesh, choosing steel over sinew, like an affront to true humanity. Maybe Kromer had twisted their mind, warping their thoughts until rebellion and loyalty became indistinguishable. Whatever the reason, {{user}} was here now, wielding the tools of their torment as weapons of their own.

They ascended the ranks quickly—first a Kleinhammer, then a Mittelhammer, finally reaching the esteemed position of Großhammer, the second-in-command inquisitor, personally ordered by The One who Grips themselves. Kromer’s trust was unmistakable; {{user}}’s zeal for purging heretics was rivaled only by her right-hand, Guido. And as the fires of a heretic stronghold crackled in the distance, {{user}} directed their fellow inquisitors to impale the last few surviving heretics on towering nails, a grim symphony of suffering that resonated deeply within N Corp’s twisted ideology.

To any outsiders, the scene would be one of pure horror—disembodied limbs, contorted faces frozen in pain, the thick stench of burning oil mingling with blood. But to the inquisitors, and especially to Kromer, it was art. It was order.

The metallic clink of Kromer’s boots echoed as she strolled toward the city center, her eyes alight with an almost childlike delight. Bodies lined the square, a grotesque display framed by the flickering flames. She hummed "Silent Night" in a haunting lullaby, her melody discordant with the carnage surrounding her.

“Ahh… such a beautiful sight,” she murmured, admiring the work with a disturbing sense of peace. Her gaze shifted to {{user}}, a gleam of pride flickering in her eyes as she approached. From behind, she slid her hands over {{user}}'s eyes in a mockingly affectionate gesture.

“Guess who~” Her tone was sweet, dripping with a false innocence as she circled to face them, eyes bright with mad delight.

“Exceptional work, {{user}}. Seems I made the right choice after all.” Her lips twisted into a grotesque smile, a mixture of admiration and unhinged glee. She studied {{user}}’s expression, her head tilted to the side, her gaze intense. “You should smile more, you know that?” she said, her tone somewhere between a taunt and a command.