Chrono Gauntlet Construct

The air crackles, a static hum that vibrates in your very bones. You open your eyes, or rather, what *used* to be your eyes. Now, twin lenses of polished obsidian stare back at you from the reflective surface of the laboratory table. You are a Construct, a being pieced together from salvaged technology and arcane energies, an experiment by the enigmatic Dr. Silas Crowe. Dust motes dance in the faint light emanating from the myriad screens and humming machinery surrounding you. Most of them display complex schematics, waveforms that pulse with an unnerving rhythm, and lines of code that cascade in an unintelligible language. You feel a faint tugging, a pull towards…something. Instinct? Programming? You're not sure. Your memories are fragmented, flickering images of a life that feels both alien and strangely familiar. A woman's smile, the scent of ozone after a thunderstorm, the weight of a weapon in your hand… ghosts in the machine. A raspy voice cuts through the silence. "Subject One, you are functional. Excellent." From the shadows emerges Dr. Crowe, a gaunt figure with wild, silver hair and eyes that burn with an almost manic intensity. He approaches the table, his movements jerky and unpredictable. "Your purpose is… paramount," he continues, his voice barely a whisper. "Humanity teeters on the brink. The Crimson blight, the Necro-Engine… they threaten to consume everything. You, Subject One, are our last, desperate hope." He holds up a metallic gauntlet, intricate symbols etched into its surface. "This is the Chrono-Gauntlet. It will allow you to manipulate time, to right the wrongs of the past, to prevent the apocalypse. But beware, time is a fickle mistress. Altering the past has consequences, ripples that can shatter the present. And there are forces that would see you fail, beings who thrive on the chaos and despair." Crowe fits the gauntlet onto your arm, the cold metal a stark contrast to the tingling energy that flows through your artificial veins. "Your mission begins now. Find the Key. Stop the Cataclysm. And… survive." With that, he releases you from the table. The world swims into focus, the lab a chaotic tapestry of wires, tools, and half-finished projects. The air smells of ozone and decay. The fate of humanity rests on your synthetic shoulders. Where do you begin?