Nobody talks about this one. A man wakes up becoming something else, something small, something rodent, and the film sits with that horror without flinching or explaining it away. It's not about accepting the transformation; it's about the specific loneliness of being remade into something that was never supposed to be you. The quiet dread works because the film trusts you to feel the wrongness without spectacle to distract from it.
A young man wakes to find his body no longer his own. Through circumstances beyond his control, he's been reconstructed as a cyborg, engineered to resemble a small rodent rather than the human he once was. The transition from flesh to machine leaves him struggling with questions of identity: if his memories remain intact but his form is alien, who is he really? As he navigates this strange new existence, he encounters someone who sees past the artificial exterior to the person trapped within. Their growing connection forces him to confront what it means to be human when humanity has been stripped away and replaced with circuitry and synthetic parts. The bond between them becomes a lifeline, a reason to keep moving forward even when the world treats him as a curiosity or worse. Between moments of tenderness and the weight of his surreal circumstances, the film examines whether love and connection can transcend the boundaries of flesh and metal. It's a meditation on acceptance, transformation, and finding yourself when you've been fundamentally unmade.