Chapter 6 - Chapter 4-3. Innovations.

Date: July 9, 3049

Time: 15:36

Of course, I got a bit carried away saying I wasn't hunting for drones. I was quite wrong to say that out loud, because while I was wandering the streets of Sector 18, a thought hit me that completely obliterated all the baseless guesses swirling around in my head. Guesses about where I could get an adapter. The information that came to mind… cooled my circuits considerably.

I remembered that there are drones capable of connecting to the intergalactic network, or simply the internet. You can't call it the World Wide Web, because a world is a planet, not a universal concept. The knowledge of the Void Lord kicked its way into my head again. Here's another interesting fact about life. Okay, that's not the point.

So, these drones exist, and there are quite a few of them. Hacking them is practically impossible because they aren't directly connected to the network; they use some kind of air gap that blocks all incoming hack attempts before they even reach. Plus, the drones pass information between each other, and you can't infect them all at once because their connection is brief, and there's one drone that understands everything sent to it through the network and distributes it to the others. If someone tries to hack it, that drone, so to speak, "softlocks" and can't pass the hacking code to the others. Then the AI-based security system quickly identifies the masochistic hacker.

Based on all this, hacking them through the network is a no-go, and it wouldn't have worked anyway since, alas, I don't have internet access, which is exactly why I'm heading out right now. If the elegant and subtle approach won't work, then it's time to go all-in and rely on the good old ways. Physical force. Just break into wherever they're kept and take at least one specimen. Just one, exactly. I could take more than one, but definitely not more than two. First, I wouldn't be able to carry that many, and security would catch me before I could escape. Second, why the hell would I need so many? Exactly, one adapter for the computer, and maybe a second for my head in hopes it'll work. But the chances of that are slim, so let's stick with one.

I scanned the surrounding buildings, trying to spot one that might house the type of drones I needed. Ordinary residential buildings were immediately dismissed as irrelevant, and small shop houses and various business buildings were also passed over. I spun around in place until my eyes landed on a tall building belonging to a company that sold spare parts for drones, cars, and pretty much everything on this planet.

This is exactly what I need.

Gripping my sword tightly, I estimated the distance—about two hundred meters—and ran toward it. From the outside, it was a building with glass panels for walls and about forty to forty-five stories high. At the top, a sign blazed with the company's name: CoreTech United. Perfectly fitting for their business.

Smiling, I reached the building and circled around to the back. Usually, every building has a staff entrance and extra loading ramps. That's what I needed.

Weaving through people who jumped away from me in fear, I found myself behind the high-rise and stopped in front of a double staff door. The slightly rusted handles suggested this entrance hadn't been used in a while, and the surrounding piles of garbage only reinforced that assumption.

Before going in, I should at least come up with a minimal plan…

"Who the fuck needs a damn plan?!" I shouted, pulling back my leg and kicking the steel door hard, leaving a serious dent and causing the hinges to spark. Slightly surprised, I kicked it again, tearing one of the hinges, but the door still wouldn't open. Must be a steel crossbar. Narrowing my eyes, I cranked my servos to max and, with a shout of "THIS IS COPPER-9!", I smashed the door to hell, taking out the security panel with it, which didn't even react to my intrusion.

Stepping into the dim corridor, I was a bit surprised and scratched my head in confusion. A white light bulb in an industrial lampshade illuminated a dusty, box-filled hallway, giving the impression that touching them would make them crumble from age. But what surprised me even more was:

"Why isn't anyone meeting me?!" It came out as a cry of genuine indignation. I expected to face legions of security, people with plasma guns and antimatter rocket launchers, but instead, I found… nothing. Dust and boxes. I was definitely offended. Apparently, they don't give a damn about their drones, so to make it easier for them, I'll just take one or two. I hope the company won't mind.

Shrugging, I ran forward, turning right and grabbing the wall to avoid wasting time slowing down. I sprinted another twenty meters, nearly knocking over a cart piled high with more old boxes. Barely dodging it, almost jumping over it, I spotted a door leading to a stairwell. I love stairwells.

Running up to the door, I sharply kicked it, ripping it off its hinges and tearing part of the metal. I am pure power.

Then came the fun climb up three floors. Walking up those quiet concrete steps with small windows facing the street, I somehow recalled an abandoned school. Maybe because it had the same layout? Probably, I don't know.

Taking two steps at a time, I quickly climbed three flights, ignoring the massive amount of dust and the near-total absence of any living creatures. I didn't even see a single cockroach, not even a mechanical one. Well, you could praise this company for cleanliness, even if it's dusty. But it doesn't change the fact that half the building is unused, just dead weight. They could've done something with it, but… ugh, it's disgusting to look at.

In this straightforward manner, I reached the third floor of this half-empty building. There was a door like the one two floors below, except this one was used much more often, at least judging by the brighter, more intense lighting. Peeking through the small window in the door, I saw a couple of office clerks in business attire wandering around with an air of importance. I never liked those types, even in my first life—rare bastards and scum.

Cracking my servo fingers, stiff from long inactivity, I touched the door handle and slowly opened it, poking my head out to scout the situation. Looking side to side and seeing the clerks turn a corner, I quietly slipped out of my hiding spot and ran where my intuition told me—right.

Speeding up, I passed by countless doors leading to various offices, even spotting the boss's office, but I ignored it.

I started slowing down in front of the door I needed, sliding across the white tiled floor, leaving two skid marks like tire tracks. Everything was calculated so perfectly that I stopped right in front of the door, ready for anything.

Leaning forward slightly, I tried to see what was in the office through the door's glass, but my attempt failed. The glass was covered with blinds, making it nearly impossible to see anything.

I had no choice but to grab the handle and push the door open, stepping inside.

Monitors hung on the walls, connected by wires to a single network, probably a server. The wires stretched up to the ceiling and disappeared into the walls, looking like a broken Christmas garland.

A couple of chairs and sofas surrounding a small glass coffee table were littered with papers, books, and what I assumed were spare parts.

But all of this paled in comparison to what was on the opposite wall. Or rather, what wasn't there in terms of decor. It was just a massive glass window spanning the entire front wall and part of the left wall. And what I saw through that glass could easily be called a drone hive. If they were ordinary drones, I'd probably just admire the beauty and leave. But this was something else entirely. Something I'd been chasing for the past few hours.

Drones with adapters…

I didn't expect it to be this easy. I didn't even have time to stress. Where's the security with crazy guns that could vaporize me from this reality? Where's the security system that could identify who I am and where I am in milliseconds? Where's all that? Could the server info be a lie? Or maybe it's just outdated information.

But I just can't believe it! It feels like a trap! Everything's too perfect. No one met me, no one fought me… I got to the place I needed without much effort… It feels like there's a catch, but… where's the catch? Is the security really that pathetic? Seems like it… Ugh… Fine, I'll grab what I need and leave. I've had enough of this.

Stepping over to the other wall, like a seasoned sprinter, I assumed a strange stance and prepared. The height here is about five to seven meters; it won't hurt me. The glass doesn't look armored, and there's no one or anything at my estimated landing spot.

Exhaling, I cranked up my servos and accelerated instantly. In 200 milliseconds, I dashed across the small balcony and crashed through the window, turning it into a shower of glass shards that fell onto the linoleum floor. I landed behind the shards, standing tall and dramatically spinning my sword in my hand. The drones turned their metallic heads toward me, stared for a couple of seconds, and then returned to their work. How boring. Fine, I'll grab a couple and run.

Grabbing a drone that was standing nearby, inspecting papers in its hands, I slammed it to the ground and, with one precise motion, severed its neck, splattering the floor with a large amount of oil leaking from its head. Holding the head up in front of me, I sheathed my sword, stabbing it into the floor, and with a light flick of my hand, I punched through the drone's display, grabbing the internet adapter—a rather bulky chip near the center of its head.

In the next second, I ripped it out, roots and all, and stuffed it into my pocket, hoping I wouldn't lose it on the way.

Tossing the useless piece of junk aside, I pulled my sword from the floor. Yes, it's disrespectful to the weapon, but I don't even know how to use it properly. So, for now, I'll let it slide.

Moving forward a bit, without much thought, I chopped off another drone's head, easily catching its yellowed head. Then, I repeated the same operation as with the first victim and stuffed the adapter into my pocket.

Stepping out of the crowd of drones, I looked at the panoramic window that made up nearly the entire floor. Spotting another building through the window, a completely stupid and reckless idea hit me—one that might just work. And if it doesn't… well, I hope nothing too bad happens to me.

Backing up to the opposite wall, I leaned against it. After standing there for a moment, I leaned forward slightly and gently pushed off. Running through the hall full of workers, I covered my face with my arms and smashed through the panoramic glass with extra force. Then, I felt the sensation of free-falling.

Uncovering my face, I quickly grabbed the hilt of my sword and drew it. After a quick recalculation, I nearly crashed into the next building but managed to stab my sword into it at the last second, significantly slowing my fall. A few seconds later, I landed smoothly on the ground.

I didn't even cause much damage. Just broke two windows and left a noticeable scratch on the other building. But I got two adapters. I think it's a fair trade. I hope the company won't be too mad, because dealing with people, especially after their betrayal, isn't something I'm keen on.

Stretching my legs, I looked ahead and, seeing no obstacles except for some gawking meatbags, I pushed off the ground, accelerating sharply. We drones are pretty fast by nature, our servos being far stronger than a trained human's muscles. So, our average speed is about 35–40 kilometers per hour.

At that moment, I took off at 40 kilometers per hour, quickly weaving past people. My speed didn't stay static—it started climbing. After a hundred meters, I was running at 50 kilometers per hour, overtaking cars.

As I ran past people, I carefully scanned their hands, looking for a new bag—more specifically, a backpack. I need something to carry my computer, right? Exactly, that's what I thought. My current backpack won't fit it, so I'm looking for a new one. Logical, isn't it? I think so too.

A couple of seconds later, luck struck. A slow-witted kid was standing on the street, sorting through his backpack. A backpack he wouldn't need anymore.

I zoomed past him like some kind of phantom and disappeared around the corner. But I didn't leave empty-handed—his backpack was mine, along with all his stuff. Not that I needed it. While running, I dumped out a few T-shirts, a camera, and three pairs of socks. They became decorations for the asphalt as I continued my sprint.

I wouldn't be surprised if the kid didn't even realize what happened.

Hooking the backpack over both straps around my metallic neck, I adjusted my course and headed straight for my sector, blindly trusting that no one had touched my treasures. My computer, some components, and let's not forget the shack I put so much love into.

As it turned out, my worries were unfounded.

After crossing two sectors in a short amount of time, I burst into my quiet, peaceful forest and immediately sprawled out on the green grass, its tickling sensation brushing against my sensors. The rays of the daytime star fell on my display, forcing me to shield myself with my hands.

Thanks again to my Solver for making me immune to the sun, though it's much warmer here than on Earth… You can't really call it a sun, more like just a star… Yeah, definitely.

I didn't have time to drift into reverie before the sharp realization hit me that I needed to hurry and check if everything was still there and nothing had been stolen during my absence.

My digital eyes bulging, I jumped up from the grass, the cores in my backpack clinking loudly, and reached my shack in a few strides.

Bending down, I frantically checked everything inside, my absolute memory aiding me in the task.

After a couple of minutes, I counted all the parts I had. Surprisingly, not a single one was missing, peacefully lying in a pile with the rest of the components.

I was about to exhale and go back to basking in the sun—since the internet adapters could wait—when my attention was drawn to something that stood out completely from the usual "grassy" look of my shack. It was a package, and when I carefully picked it up, it turned out to be quite large and straight, like my sword, maybe even a bit longer.

For a couple of minutes, I turned the package over in my hands, trying to feel for any traps. The chance it's a bomb is small, but not zero, just like the chance it's a giant tracking beacon.

Enough guessing. Curiosity overpowered my self-preservation instinct, and I placed the package on the floor, slowly unwrapping it, tearing off pieces of gray paper. With each piece removed, my anxiety faded, replaced by acceptance of my fate. If it's a bomb, it doesn't matter much anymore. I'm getting philosophical…

After a while, I held the object of all this fuss in my hands, and I couldn't understand—why? Why would people send me a damn magnetic scabbard for my sword?! I mean, I get trying to gain my trust, but this is too blatant! It's a nice gift, though. Instead of a regular scabbard's slot for the sword, it's got a complex system of magnets that somehow works so that when I "place" the sword in it, it doesn't stick but levitates a couple of millimeters away. This lets me draw the sword from any position. The problem? I don't know how to use a sword!

It's a pity people are so naive, thinking I'd make contact after what they did, or at least tried to do. That assassination attempt in the cave, when the "manager" verbally tore up the invisible contract that protected me from their attacks—and protected them from me. It's such a shame I'm not strong enough to take on their local army of meatbags solo.

Using the Void isn't an option, as I've said before. If I haven't, I'll repeat: the Void eats my core like disassembly drones eat oil. Too much, too fast.

And using the Cube? I don't have enough processing power. Building some gadget is easy, with a headache. Attacking people with earth tentacles or other structures? My brain would melt faster.

Attaching the scabbard to my back, I stood and stretched, then sat back down. Human habits die hard.

Pulling the head—now a full-fledged computer—closer, I pushed aside some wires and took the internet adapter from my pocket. Finding the right ports, I connected the appropriate wires and secured all the components tightly. Time to start using it. No internet restrictions, unlike those Manor drones, some of which could access the internet but with so many limitations… What a nightmare. Some didn't even know such a network existed.

Unplugging a cable from the back of my neck, I grabbed a similar cable from the neck of the poor drone's head. It was hard to mistake; it was bulky and controlled the entire drone—or in my case, the computer. I needed it since I didn't have a mouse, keyboard, or other peripherals, and it'd make transferring files to my head easier.

I accessed the operating system almost instantly. No loading—pure performance. Of course, that didn't surprise me since I'd used this connection method before, but still, not bad.

Admiring the KDE Plasma desktop, I dove right into my adventure. The internet drivers came with the distro, so I didn't need to install anything. A perfect system for perfect users. But what do I actually need? Right! The internet! Why? Oh, you'll see.

Opening some no-name browser, I immediately started soaking up information about local geography. I don't want to get lost in the sectors or take wrong turns. Plus, there's more than one planet under human control, and I need to know which planet orbits which star. Not to mention, in the world of Drones, there are a few planets that don't exist in the real world. So, astronomy won't help me here.

For several minutes, I nonstop browsed maps, squeezing out as much information as possible until it hit me. I could just download them… So I did.

A group of ten star systems, including the Copper system, Centauri, and, of course, the Solar system, was absorbed into my head with such ease and simplicity that I was a bit surprised. Then I closed my eyes and sighed. For some reason, I started thinking my processing power was weak, considering I couldn't control the Solver or use the Cube properly, but in reality, my processing speed is above average for this world. That's why I devoured that map like a snack. No need to feel inferior—hooray!

A bit cheered up by the fact that I'm not weak at all but actually pretty strong for routine tasks, I continued my research.

I wandered through various websites with all sorts of designs and domains. Google, by the way, hasn't gone bankrupt, so their search engine is still kicking, which is pretty great for me.

After getting a bit more comfortable with the internet—something I should've done before downloading maps—I started wondering: what's the tech like here? I turned to the internet with this question and started downloading every article I could get my hands on, no time wasted.

There was stuff I already knew and stuff that mildly surprised me. Wireless energy transmission. Or rather, energy transmission without conductors. I didn't fully understand how it works, but it's usable. What I did get is that a microscopic tear in space is created, shrinking space to zero, allowing energy to be transmitted not just meters or kilometers, but between damn planets! Dyson Spheres here work the same way, transmitting energy harvested from a star or black hole directly to the planet it's tied to… Madness… Working madness…

That was just a fraction of what I found. There was info on quantum chips, which I definitely want to implant in my head, and various projectors that can achieve absolute zero. And so on. Against all that, an RTG as a car engine/generator seems downright ordinary. It's hard to be surprised, especially after what I read…

And the big question for fans—why the hell do people use ancient-looking computers when they have powerful drones and freakin' quantum tech? Simple as day: those computers are powerful enough, despite looking like something from the early 2000s. They're part of the standard colonization kit, and since people don't want to waste resources, they've been using them since they first arrived on the planet. That's that.

A couple more interesting facts: this colony belongs to Britain. I don't know why I need that info, but it's in my head now, why not? That's why you sometimes hear that distinctive British accent.

The Solar System and its neighboring planets have become neutral territory, designated as an international planetary trade hub. Makes sense—what else do you do with neutral territory no one can officially claim? Sure, there are capitals of individual countries and such, but that info is usually ignored. I was wrong about London being the economic center. Nope. Not at all. So, it's a fair decision, though I expected humanity to unite into one galactic empire. Oh well.

According to the map, Russia is somewhere in the triple star system of Centauri. That's where one of the Dyson Spheres is. Looking at those pictures, I'm amazed by the beauty of the skeletal structures surrounding an entire star, collecting its energy. It's just gorgeous, no arguing that. It looks like a glowing orange wrapped in a net, on a planetary scale. Beautiful.

America is somewhere in the Canis Major constellation, near its brightest star, Sirius. There's another Dyson Sphere there, powering all the planets in that constellation. I can't imagine how that much energy supports so many living beings. Even though I hate the human race, I can't deny their genius. Well done.

As for Britain, it owns this star and a few others nearby. Pretty nice territories, which Britain uses rationally instead of wasting space and time. But unfortunately for them, they won't need it anymore, because my little sister's coming, and she'll leave nothing standing. Heh, she'll blast every planet out of orbit.

Unplugging the cable from the unfortunate head, I stretched. Gathering info took a solid two hours, but they were the most productive hours of the last… year, maybe? Pulling the cable from my neck, I stuffed it into the recently stolen second backpack. Grabbing the head, I shoved it in there too, took the bag in my hands, and left the shack.

Strapping the new scabbard to my waist—wanted it on my back, but the backpack's in the way—I magnetized the sword to it, and it settled into place with a cheerful clink, which is odd since graphene shouldn't be magnetic.

Ignoring it, I gripped the bag tightly, took one last look at my shack against the backdrop of the summer forest, and smiled. I won't be coming back here, sadly.

Turning around, I sprinted toward Sector 21. It's gonna be a long-ass run through this forest… Oh well, I've been through worse.

۞⦰۞

Date: July 10, 3049

Time: 8:35

The next day, I was already in Sector 21, strolling through its clean streets. Among the many residential buildings, there were hardly any cars, as this was a residential area. Plus, cars on this planet are scarce and too expensive for personal use, so people walk everywhere to stay active, so to speak.

Cars are only used heavily for transporting resources and other goods.

It was quiet and peaceful here, without the constant honking, screeching tires, or the feeling of being watched. It's nice to know your ass is safe.

I was lying on a rooftop, basking in the beauty of the morning star, its light warming my frame and filling me with not just energy but enthusiasm. I felt like getting up from this concrete roof, kicking a few rocks around, and figuring out why some of my parts are barely compatible with me.

I'm talking about my arms. From a short article I read online, an arm is considered "outdated" due to differences in drone models. I can't just attach an arm designed for higher energy consumption and a more complex structure. This leads to several issues: the arm obeys weakly; my core is too low-powered compared to local drone cores; and the arm's precision is noticeably off, to put it simply.

Even though this arm gives me increased strength, looks cooler—I like the bluish tint—and has extra controls, it's too problematic to use. Some might say, "Fix it with the Solver's regen or the Cube!" But no. It'd only make things worse. So, it's best to follow a programmer's rule: if it works, don't touch it.

Ideally, I'd rebuild myself piece by piece, upgrading everything at once with plenty of core slots. But I don't have those resources, and I don't know how to transfer consciousness, sadly. So, that idea's on the back burner.

I had plenty of resources, having killed drones in droves, meaning I had lots of cores. But even if I turned some cores into new body parts, I wouldn't get stronger—just waste time. The boost would be so minor I wouldn't even notice it, let alone use it.

I need more energy; this backpack of cores just isn't enough. After every teleport, the cores burst like balloons. Using the Solver strains them so much they start boiling…

Processors for the Solver? I can't just rip a processor from a drone and stick it in myself, hoping it'll work. No, it's a different issue. It'd burn out at the first use of the Solver. Shatter. One moment it's a processor, the next it's gone. Bismuth semiconductor transistors would turn into metallic puddles. Actual puddles, since silicon in these processors is only used as a base. I mistakenly thought drones used silicon before, but no, it's bismuth.

Standing up from the roof, I clicked my servos a couple of times and surveyed the area. Noticing a small booklet on the dirty roof floor, I picked it up and started reading, trying to extract as much information as possible.

It talked about all of humanity's discoveries over the past five hundred years. Well, not all—just the most significant ones.

Quantum processors with billions of qubits… Quantum chips… Hyperjumps… Such delightful madness. Such technological progress. It… amazes me, to say the least.

I definitely need all of this. Not just the processing power but a comparable energy source to power everything I want. Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until after the Copper-9 core explosion, or else… people will just get in the way with their "assassinations" and weird attempts to make contact. It's a long wait… but I'm used to it, after nearly thirty years of life, heh…

Tossing the booklet aside, I walked to the edge of the roof. It was a five-story building, so I could easily climb down without damage, as long as I knew how.

Jumping over the railing, I adjusted both backpacks so they wouldn't fall and, grabbing the concrete structure, began descending slowly, leaving scratches on the shoddy cement wall.

Reaching the sidewalk, I checked my sword in its scabbard. These things are so damn convenient. I used to carry it on my back, between my backpack and my Butler suit, and I had to be careful not to damage the suit's sensitive material. The suit remains the most intact piece of my wardrobe. The only piece, honestly… Let's ignore the fact that it's basically a giant blob of oil and other liquids right now. I don't know how it's still holding up. And I didn't want to damage the backpack either, even though it's reinforced with metal—thanks, Eve—but it probably wouldn't survive a molecular blade. It'd get chopped into a salad without noticing.

The walk was fun and pleasant, relatively. I don't know how I wandered around a single sector for an entire day, but whatever. Now I need to get "home," because the walk was a smashing success, and I managed to rest from everything.

It was nearly forty hours of intense focus, but everything comes to an end, and with nothing else to do, I slowly trudged toward Sector 18. It's a long and painful journey, having to pass through that damn forest. Thankfully, we don't feel fatigue…

And so, I trekked through the forest for hours, climbing over fallen trees and other obstacles in this wooden hell. Not to mention the massive roots, bushes, and other plants that slowed me down to a crawl.

But I finally reached my home and collapsed onto the grass. Again. Right where I lay last time, soaking up sunlight with my display.

After lying there for another fifteen minutes, I finally got up from the warm grass, gave myself a hard slap that made my hand click, and dragged my lazy body into the shack, where I sat on the floor and stared at one spot.

I sat there, lost in thought, for who knows how long, contemplating the world. I almost felt spiritually enlightened… but no. My gaze grew increasingly irritated by a foreign object in the corner of the shack.

At some point, I couldn't take it anymore, bent down, and grabbed it, pulling it toward me. Though I had mixed feelings about it, I kept holding this box that looked suspiciously like a bomb. Turning it over in my hands, I suddenly realized what it was. I even raised a digital eyebrow in surprise.

"No, I knew you guys were idiots, but this much?" I pinched my imaginary nose and wiped a digital bead of sweat. Looking up, I let out a loud exhale and placed the object on the shack's floor, covering my face with my hands.

"Are you… completely stupid?" I muttered, removing one hand from my face and slamming it into the ground, leaving a small crater like a human fist punch.

"Idiocy…" I continued examining the object, still expecting a trap, but there was no hint of one, which made me doubt human intelligence even more—though I don't know how much lower it could go. Sighing through my teeth, I lifted the object above my head and finally said:

"A damn radio…" These meatbags have no idea what a knowledgeable person could do with a damn radio if they had enough resources. And I've got resources out the wazoo, plus internet access… Idiots… Idiots. IDIOTS. They're making it worse for themselves…

What can I do with this piece of plastic and metal? Oh, something very useful. A walkie-talkie. More precisely, a walkie-talkie that lets me eavesdrop on the special forces' conversations, who are 200% tracking my metal ass. All I need is to tune into the right frequency, and I'm practically part of their system. A part they'll never suspect. They're too dumb to figure it out.

I set the radio on the floor and examined its structure. It's just a receiver, the kind grandmas use to play music in the kitchen, but damn, it's high-tech. Almost seamless, no visible connections—a truly monolithic design. But you can't access the insides easily; there are no screws, just magnetic latches you can't open without special tools.

But who needs tools when you've got brute force?

The right question for the right situation. Grabbing a piece of rebar from the corner, I stood the radio upright and gave it a test strike. To my surprise, the casing didn't crack, just split slightly. A second strike widened the gap, and some compound started leaking out. The two halves of the radio began to wobble but didn't fully separate, sadly. A third strike finally forced the halves apart. Damn strong magnets, can't deny that.

With some sadness, I watched the dielectric fluid, used for waterproofing, spill onto the dirt floor of my shack. I can't imagine how I'll clean this up. It's slimy and barely absorbs into the ground.

Screw it. I grabbed the circuit board and gave it a close inspection. Right away, I noticed the phased array chipset, which might come in handy soon. Maybe.

Holding the board more comfortably, I carefully broke off the phased array chip and placed it on my second backpack. Can't lose the only useful resources. Plenty of drones, but only one radio. I won't find another one in time, sadly.

Back to the board, I continued my inspection. Next was the board's base—a multilayer BGA-mounted board that I, unfortunately, can't disassemble, but it has some useful components for my project. So, no one will judge me if I just burn part of this board and keep only what I need, right?

Grabbing a core from my backpack, I connected it directly to the radio's board and, through the control processor in my head, sent an overload of voltage to the board, placing my finger on one section. This let me control which components burned, since my finger, though a lousy aluminum conductor, did the job.

A brief flash, some smoke filled the shack like a chain smoker's apartment, but most importantly, I had what I needed. A satisfied smile spread across my face as I took stock of what I had.

The result: a gallium arsenide transceiver module with a frequency range of about 1.2–2.8 GHz. Perfect for special forces—they love this range; it's high enough and doesn't get blocked by building walls or other obstacles.

Next, the phased array chip, useless for receiving signals but containing something critical—a highly stable clock generator with a phase-locked loop (PLL). It'll be the heart of my frequency synthesizer, letting me pick up more than just white noise.

And the smallest but not insignificant part—a low-noise amplifier (LNA). It'll let me pull even the weakest signals out of the chaotic airwaves. A very useful little thing, especially for me.

"Let the surgery begin…" I said, crossing my legs and leaning against one of the shack's thin walls. Pulling the backpack with the components closer, I let out a nervous sigh. This was going to be the most delicate and complex job of my life. I thought building a computer from a fellow drone's head was hard. Nope—this is harder.

Drawing my sword from its scabbard, I placed it beside me and gathered all the components I needed. This was a high-stress situation; one wrong move could be fatal. Very fatal. And to make things worse, my drone's internal program decided to aggravate me.

Detected attempt at self-modification with a high risk of system failure. Are you sure this action is worth it?

[Y/N]

"I'm sure," I said. The program blinked and disappeared, giving me full freedom. Not that I was restricted before, but now it wouldn't nag me and interfere with installing the new module.

Now, where to start? The back of my neck's a no-go—too many external module connections that, if damaged, I'd lose forever. Can't even salvage them from another drone.

So, it's through the display. Think of it like this: the neck is an airplane—everything has to be precise to the millimeter, no mistakes. The display is a ship—weld on a piece of metal, and no one cares. It's easy to replace, even with one from my computer, which is just lying around.

Grabbing a sharp stone I used to dismantle the head-computer, I carefully pried off my display, tilting my head back to keep it from falling and tearing the wires.

With a soft click, the display came loose from its slots. My eyes still worked, but I knew it wouldn't last. I'd have to work blind, messing with wires on pure intuition.

Blinking, I gently removed the display and began disconnecting its internal wires. It wasn't just a piece of glass but a full-fledged unit with everything essential. With each wire unplugged, fewer systems appeared in my interface. Near the end, my illusory eyes vanished, and the last wire took my vision.

Darkness. The first thing that comes to mind when you see nothing. Though, I started seeing my thoughts more clearly, shimmering like hallucinations and flickering before my eyes. I almost got lost in them, but I managed to pull myself together and continue the modification.

Setting the display on the floor, I started working on my internals. The holy of holies for any drone. Fiber-optic cables, tightly woven together, formed a strange structure that transmitted all my memory cell data. The processor, hidden behind a translucent reinforced quartz casing, hummed and vibrated lightly from the core's voltage. At that moment, I realized I wasn't an ordinary drone but… premium, maybe? Local drones don't have these fancy features. I wouldn't be surprised if other Manor drones also glowed with these cables and quartz casings. The Elliotts spared no expense.

There was hardly any space in my head. I could joke that my brain's too big and brilliant for this small frame, but it'd be out of place. I'd have to get rid of something—something that wouldn't be useful for the next twenty years.

I chose the social protocol emulation block, which forced me to fake politeness. I don't get its purpose; those directives could've been coded into the program without wasting precious space on useless blocks. Time to ditch this relic.

With precise finger movements, I grabbed the data bus and yanked the block from the main line. Leaving that cable, I took the main power line and, with surgical precision, disconnected it from the block. Then, I barbarically ripped the block from its slot and tossed it away. Useless junk.

Now for the implantation. First, the LNA, the smallest and most fragile—easiest to damage. Taking it, I barely found the main audio input. With a satisfied sigh, I grabbed the neural interface port cable for audio and connected the LNA directly to it. The foundation was set.

Next, the transceiver. It needs cooling, so there's no better spot than the quartz radiator grid near the quartz processor cube. It's practically next to the central processor but not on it. This grid, by the way, cools the visual data cable to prevent overheating.

With a quiet, maniacal chuckle, I grabbed some dielectric compound and used it as glue, attaching the transceiver to the radiator. Madness? Agreed.

Finally, the toughest part: the PLL module, which requires perfect synchronization or it'll fry the system. One mistake, and I'd turn into a vegetable stuck in an infinite reboot loop. Not quite a bootloop—more like an endless system crash. I'd be a dummy.

Sliding it into my head, I slowly pulled a thin fiber-optic thread from it. My gyroscopic stabilizers worked at 100%, eliminating any stray vibrations. My hand couldn't tremble, physically or logically. No way.

Pulling the wire, I connected it to my main clock generator, securing the PLL where the politeness module used to be. Done. The connection was stable and hard to disrupt.

Next, I linked all three components into a single system and connected them to the main power bus. A high-pitched whine sounded in my head for a second before vanishing.

I could scan for short circuits internally. Everything was fine, even the resistance. It's working.

Picking up the display, I carefully reconnected all the cables in reverse order, restoring my vision quickly. I spent a couple more minutes ensuring all the wires were in place and, with a soft click, secured the display back in its slot. Perfect.

The next step was a quick reboot. Without it, the new module wouldn't work—it needs to "bind" to the other systems.

Nodding briefly to my thoughts, I issued an admin command to reboot. The program immediately notified me with a message on my face:

Reboot.Confirm reboot for installation of new hardware: [SDR_RX_MOD_V1.0]?

[Y/N]

"Confirm," I said, closing my eyes. Everything vanished—sensations, natural sounds. Every sensor checked its functionality, but I was unaware of it. I didn't exist, as such. My program shut down, reestablishing control links and connecting them to my RFP (Radio Frequency Phase) system. This would allow me to control the module array, essentially turning myself into a giant walkie-talkie.

In this state, I existed for a single second that felt like an eternity by digital standards. The first thing to appear on my internal display was the symbol for an empty set, spinning before me like some artifact. After a while, it vanished, and I regained access to my familiar interface. At first glance, nothing seemed different, but upon closer inspection of the program's workspace, I found a slider responsible for receiving and transmitting radio waves.

I shouldn't have hesitated…

A chaotic storm flooded my head, as if I were standing in a room with a hundred jet turbines roaring simultaneously. I could feel the radio waves, like they were part of everyday life, like the ground beneath my feet or the wall of my shack. Millions of signals zipped through my head at once: the piercing screech of Wi-Fi routers, the mumbling of household appliances kilometers away, and simple carrier signals devoid of any information. Madness.

No time to whine about the headache. I forced myself to focus, like I used to in the good old days, burning through weekends on video games. In an instant, the irrelevant noise receded, granting me access to a familiar waterfall spectrum analysis. Oh yes, this was my best acquisition in a while—a new sensory organ that demanded almost nothing. Perfect.

It took me just a moment to lock onto the erratic pulses of the special forces tracking me. It was far easier than I'd expected. My artificial brain captured their rhythm in a fraction of a second and synchronized, processing all incoming data. The meaningless static in my head suddenly gained meaning:

"…Beta, the target disassembled our gift. It's like he doesn't even know how to use it," was the first thing I heard as my body fully adapted to the new type of information. I could hear the speaker chuckling slightly as he spoke. Oh, really? He thought I'd use it like a regular radio? No way, screw that. Good luck tracking me now, because it's not going to be easy.

While they're laughing at my "stupidity," I might as well go for a walk. I haven't heard anything about them planning to attack me yet. A stroll sounds perfect.

۞⦰۞

Date: August 1, 3049

Time: 22:21

These past three weeks have been… weird. Kind of fun and interesting, but also dreadfully boring. I either wandered around or sat in my shack, listening to the special forces' frequency, sometimes struggling to hold back laughter at their comments. Their jokes were genuinely funny… sometimes.

The conversations of these three local SWAT-like groups weren't just amusing—they were useful, in a way. They were so lazy about hiding their plans that they discussed them openly on the radio, and I got all the information I needed. It seriously made me want to bash my head against a tree. How can they be this irresponsible? I learned their plans an hour or two in advance.

This let me know what items they were going to plant for me. The list was short, and unfortunately, none of the items were particularly useful. At some point, I just stopped bothering to pick up the junk they left, especially since I could hear their plans well before they acted.

I started ignoring their "gifts" after they left me a lighter. I'd have gladly taken it if it were a Zippo with a wick and fuel, but reality was harsh—it was a green gas stove lighter. Judging by the worn label, it was straight out of the 21st century. Why the hell do they keep thousand-year-old junk in storage? I don't get it.

At least the lighter worked, but I had no use for it, sadly.

Alright, enough about their lack of logic. There's nothing more to say. They're doing some weird stuff, trying to play cryptic games with me that only they understand. But it doesn't change the fact that they have some sense of humor, which doesn't cause physical or mental harm.

For example, they once talked about taking me along if they got called to another mission while tracking me. That actually made me a bit fond of them. Now that's what I call wanting to have fun. Unfortunately for them, if that happens, I won't hold back and will use my sword for its intended purpose—chopping them to pieces. Ahem… Did I mention I don't like humans? But they seem to respect me… That's the only good news.

Yeah… good news. I let myself slip into daydreams for a moment, because no one's going to attack a defenseless drone in broad daylight, practically in the middle of a sector. There are plenty of witnesses here.

I started imagining how I'd mess with the special forces, driving them crazy with endless banter, when…

I was interrupted.

No, nobody figured out I'm a walking radio tower—absolutely not. It's just that one of the special forces guys suddenly said, "Why don't we just raid his shack? Isn't that what we were told to do?" Hearing that, my eyes widened so much they practically filled my entire display, staring into the void. Bastards.

It's hard to describe my shock at that moment. I thought things would end on a friendly note, but apparently, I was dead wrong.

They decided to flush me out of my hideout and, judging by the rest of the conversation, take me down in the process. Screw them. I'll escape before they can raid my base. I'm always one step ahead, even if they think otherwise.

I spun around and started walking quickly toward Sector 18, trying to draw as little attention as possible. What do I need to grab? Right—the head. Without it, I can't do much.

After a bit of thought, I gave up on stealth and just sprinted toward my sector, which wasn't too far. A couple of minutes later, I was at the forest's edge, crunching through branches as I sped past ancient trees, drawing curious glances from small animals like squirrels. I either leaped over fallen logs, often breaking them in the process, or sliced through them with my sword to keep them from slowing me down.

Soon after, I skidded to a stop near my shack, leaving a trail in the dirt. Once my speed normalized, I dove into the shack, grabbed the head, and stuffed it into the second backpack lying nearby. I glanced around, seeing nothing but the puddle of dielectric fluid on the floor I couldn't clean up, then bolted outside and sprinted toward another sector. The special forces weren't chasing me yet, so they wouldn't know my location for a while. I just needed to hide.

I ran, slashing trees in my path out of sheer frustration. The molecular edge of my sword cut through them like a hot knife through butter.

Jumping over rocks, I grabbed branches and used them like gym bars to speed up my movement, like a seasoned acrobat. The branches creaked under the weight of my core-filled backpack, but I ignored it and kept up my cowardly escape toward other sectors.

A minute later, I burst out of the forest and stepped onto the sidewalk of a proper sector—Sector 19. Passersby stared at me like I was the second coming of Christ. Okay, I was too dirty to look remotely normal. My suit was covered in oil and grime—cleaning it wasn't an option, sadly.

Sectors 17 and 18 were no longer livable, at least for me. They could track me down in any corner there. I needed to keep running, far enough to wear out the special forces.

For the next twenty minutes, I covered nearly thirty kilometers, leaping over railings, weaving through crowds, and scaring people with my appearance. For a human, my speed was insane, and since I didn't tire, it made my impromptu escape ridiculously efficient. Running was actually fun. The lack of fatigue gave it a kind of magic, like riding a bike downhill. Same vibe.

"I think… this should be enough…" I said, glancing back at the path I'd covered in such an astonishingly short time. Being a drone is great. Thirty-two kilometers in twenty minutes… Madness. I didn't know I could hit that kind of speed.

Smiling, I turned back toward the sector I'd arrived in—Sector 23, the most popular and crowded sector on the planet. Merchants used holograms to advertise their goods, luring in customers. Drones scurried around with their owners, carrying bags and packages, occasionally chatting with their peers. People bustled about in colorful clothing, trying not to lose sight of each other. Beautiful.

This sector was a massive shopping hub with countless services, from movie theaters to tech stores for drones and other machines.

In such crowded places, filled with both humans and drones, hardly anyone ventured into the alleys or passageways that often led behind the shops. That's where I could set up camp. I didn't rely much on electricity, so I could function even in a desert.

With a smirk, I wove through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone. No one would appreciate getting smeared with my mess. Though… I didn't even have to try—people parted around me like I was Moses splitting the sea. The only ones who didn't move were drones, whom I had to gently push aside with physical force. They looked at me with confusion and bewilderment.

After a couple of minutes, I made it through the massive crowd without touching anyone, to my great relief. In this noisy place, no one paid much attention to a dirty drone slipping into an alley. At least, I hoped so.

Walking to the end of the alley, dodging piles of trash and rats, I turned right into a small space between buildings with barely any light. Ignoring the trash bags and other human waste, you could call this place cozy. A little cleanup, and it'd feel downright homey.

Without expecting any interruptions, I pulled the head-computer out of my backpack. Setting it on the ground, I sat beside it, grabbing my sword just in case. In the background, I could still hear the muffled voices of people wandering the sector—a cacophony of sounds dampened by the thick metal walls of the buildings.

Once again, I pulled the cable from the back of my neck and connected it to the computer, taking full control of its core and diving back into the intergalactic network. A quick explanation of how the internet works here: there's no such thing as "provider-based internet" anymore. It's completely free and accessible to every planetary resident, no matter where they are—home, the bottom of the local ocean, or near the planet's core. The internet is everywhere. I got this info from JCJenson's servers. With this in mind, I stole a drone with an internet adapter since it works anywhere without needing extra peripherals.

I couldn't install the adapter in myself because I lack the necessary data channels, and I have no desire to rip out another module from my head. No, it's not because I'm lazy—it's because I don't have any useless modules left. So, it's better to walk around with a radio module and know the special forces' movements than to surf the internet in blissful ignorance.

For the next few hours, I roamed the vast network, gobbling up terabytes of data—not random stuff, but focused. Weapon handling. I gathered info not just on firearms but also on melee weapons, specifically bastard swords and knives. With them, I could fear almost nothing in this world… except Solver hosts and disassembly drones. Everything else posed no threat.

I was surprised that, while melee weapons aren't as common as they used to be, there's still a ton of info on fencing. It felt oddly satisfying. Same with martial arts. After finishing with melee and firearms, I dove into various martial arts, absorbing every word of theory and every frame of practical videos. In my head, I simulated each attack, block, hook, uppercut, or stance to replicate them in real life.

I kept at it until I got tired. I'd overloaded my mind, but… it paid off.

Standing up from the dirty floor and brushing small debris off my suit, I picked up my sword. One change stood out—my uncertainty was gone, as if it never existed. I held the sword as naturally as I held my core-filled backpack. It was so relaxing, like I'd been wielding it for decades.

Raising it and positioning it in front of my face, with the guard pointing downward and the blade covering one eye, I exhaled. A pretty standard pose, judging by internet images. It helps with focus. It worked for me.

Commanding my servos, I made a light diagonal slash from top to bottom, realizing just how much better I'd gotten with the sword. Normally, I'd have dropped it and sent it flying into a wall, but now… I'd mastered swordsmanship. Okay, I'm joking—not fully mastered. True mastery takes long training, a luxury I can't afford. But still, not bad.

Only a Solver-host drone, a disassembly drone, or another drone like me who trained via the internet could stand against me. Too bad there aren't any others like me… I'd love to spar with one.

Alright, it's getting late. Fourteen o'clock in the evening… Sounds weird, but this planet has ten extra hours compared to Earth, so the time's like that. Sitting back on the dirty floor, I closed my eyes and activated sleep mode. There's a chance a crazy idea might pop into my head, so I need to rest well, even if I don't see the point.

۞⦰۞

Date: August 2, 3049

Time: 06:15

The next day, I woke up in the same alley between buildings. The street was still quiet, but I knew it'd soon fill with the hum of countless voices—joyful, sad, happy, and so on. And it'd annoy me all day. Sadly, I can't block it out, and the reason's obvious. To silence everyone, I'd have to kill them all, and right now, I don't feel like killing.

Opening my digital eyes, I casually pulled the cable from my neck and connected to the head-computer, diving back into the intergalactic network. What do I need here? Not much. I checked out firearms yesterday evening, so I don't need more on that. Right now, I'm most interested in beam weapons—the special forces have them, so I need to know how to defend against them. Wait… no, I'm just being an idiot.

I queried the network about beam weapons. Within seconds, I couldn't hold back my reaction.

"What the hell… Is this really a beam weapon or a weapon of mass destruction?" I asked, staring at the insane specs of some guns that shocked me more for their functionality than their appearance.

"And these idiots have this kind of weapon? Screw that…" I muttered, diving into the specs.

First up was the High-Energy Laser (HEL). The most common type of non-firearm, long-range beam weapon. It looks like a beefed-up M16 with a slightly larger barrel, fewer parts, and glowing doodads. Despite its "harmless" appearance, it's pretty powerful and has two modes.

Mode one: a continuous, high-precision laser the size of a coin that cuts through obstacles like a hot knife. It's rarely used since there's no range adjustment.

Mode two: pulse mode. It fires short, ultra-powerful "light packets" that don't just melt or pierce but create micro-explosions, tearing chunks off the target. Highly effective against armor.

The downside? A heat-resistant metal mirror can reflect it. A polished, light-colored surface can scatter much of the energy. Smoke or dust clouds can also absorb some of the shot's energy, turning a fearsome weapon into a fancy flashlight.

Next up… What the hell? A particle accelerator?! I'm not ready for this… Okay, what's the deal with its specs… Oh, nothing to fear—it's been phased out and is barely used. Its main function: an electromagnetic wave that passes through almost anything and fries small electronics.

A proton beam from this thing's barrel can take down a disassembly drone if aimed at its core. Crazy powerful stuff. But it looks pathetic, like a Glock with a Gauss cannon strapped to it. Alright.

Protection? Layered armor alternating metal and dielectric materials can scatter and spread the ion beam, preventing penetration. It's not foolproof, though—60% of the time, implants in a human will fry, causing suffering. Another defense: creating an electromagnetic field around yourself. It's effective but energy-intensive, and maintaining it for long is tough. Still, it can bend the particle trajectory to miss you entirely.

Those are the two most common weapons they could use against my aluminum head. Everything else is either too bulky, inaccurate, or insanely expensive. Plus, the damage from misuse is catastrophic. If someone fired an electromagnetic roaster into that crowd around the corner, humans would be fine, but all electronics, including drones, wouldn't just fry like with a particle accelerator—they'd melt. Molten circuits can't be replaced, so you'd need new ones. The user or their organization would have to cover the damages.

Disconnecting from the computer, I shook my head, trying to collect my thoughts. I definitely need more rest from internet use, especially after yesterday's marathon of processing terabytes of data on every fighting style, both melee and hand-to-hand. My memory cells, capable of storing yottabytes, were practically humming from the volume of new info speeding through my graphene transistors. Processing it all took just seconds out of the hours I spent online.

Standing up, I looked upward. Between the towering metal buildings, I could see flashes of the local star's rays, quickly hidden by thick clouds. Beautiful, no question.

As I said yesterday, a completely crazy and unnecessary idea hit me. Anyone else would see no point in it, calling me a dumb idiot. I won't deny it—it's stupid and weird, but why not?

I decided to raid Cabin Fever Labs. Sounds epic, doesn't it? I agree, but why do I need this? The primary goal is to gather as much info as possible about the catacombs, as this won't be my last visit. I'll definitely be back, either after the core explosion or with the main characters. I'll have to make the map myself—my perfect memory will help. Humans aren't dumb enough to put a secret facility's map on Google Maps.

The secondary goal is to talk to the girls. I know they have plenty of conversation partners among the Solver test subjects, but something tells me they like my personality more than those nobodies. I mean, I showed my strength and escaped this place, dodging security like it was a game and scaring them silly. Pure beauty.

Of course, I'm not going in head-on. That'd be stupid and boring. I'm not sure I'd survive ten HEL shots, especially to my body. Plus, it'd risk losing all the cores in my backpack, my main energy source. Not happening. So, I need to come up with a raid plan.

I'm crazy enough to pull this off. Who said it'd be hard? Proving them wrong should be easy, I hope.

For now, I need to focus entirely on planning while the special forces haven't found my new hideout. I hear them on the radio saying they've lost sight of me. They were talking about it yesterday, but I wasn't listening. No distractions now—just the plan.

۞⦰۞

Date: September 27, 3049

Time: 26:35

Never thought I'd be doing this, but here we are. Hah, I didn't expect to spend so long planning, given my processing power. At first, it seems like I could whip up a plan in seconds, but here's the catch: there are too many variables, from Sentinels to the material of Cabin Fever Labs' walls.

You can't make a plan quickly and say, "Good enough!" No, it's not. Sentinels could stun me and tear me apart, and no processing power would help. I could be turned into a sieve at the entrance. That can't happen.

So, I spent four months planning.

During that time, I tracked the special forces' movements via the radio. They couldn't hide from me—I saw them disguising themselves as civilians, trying not to catch my eye. But something weird happened: I was the one avoiding them. I dodged them and occasionally ran to the chemical plant, observing the "workers" coming and going, logging everything into my processor. I worked until I knew the exact schedule of arrivals, departures, guard shifts, and even when a hallway light turned on. I knew everything, and no one knew I was there.

I can play pretend too. I ditched my fancy, oil-stained suit and silver wig, swapping them for a standard worker drone uniform. With my plain white eyes, I was nearly indistinguishable from a regular worker drone. I went on recon without my sword, confident no one could spot me. Humans here are idiots, so hiding in plain sight is the best tactic. They just don't notice.

I wandered around the chemical plant, scanning every person heading there, even kids bored enough to check out the nearby lake. They're so happy, oblivious to what's happening beneath that plant. But I know, and I'm aiming for it. Heh.

And the date's symbolic. Exactly one year until the Copper-9 core explosion. Beautiful. I'm going to tear their security system to shreds, make them feel pathetic and useless as their digital empire crumbles. As a bonus, I could totally black out the plant's power, so life doesn't seem so sweet for them. Yeah, I've gotten pretty damn spiteful over these four months, but I can't help it. These endless hide-and-seek games with the special forces have worn me out. I just want them to leave me alone.

The plan's simple as day. Why else would I track the main entrance's schedule? Heh. That's my way in, and I'm going in with style. No disguise—I'll walk in with my dirty suit and silver wig, striking fear into whoever runs this place. I'm not easily scared anymore, so I'll go almost head-on.

A key part is killing a few Sentinels to clear the way, not just for me but for the drones escaping and for Alice. I'm only kind to drones, even if I slaughter them by the dozen.

I'm actually quite the sweetheart, but no one knows that, and I hide it well. Or maybe I'm just lying through my teeth right now. Could be either—depends on how you look at it. Okay, I'm getting sidetracked.

Ideally, I'll break their security system so badly they'll need a nightmare to fix it. Anyone doubt I can do it? Big mistake.

Since I don't have a universal key, I'll either use force or find one, because I can't get into the mines otherwise. I'm leaning toward force—no need for a complicated scheme, especially since it's not necessary here. Too many steps could ruin the whole plan.

Once downstairs, I'll wander the mines and fill out an interactive map, marking everything from computers to rocks. That way, I won't get lost next time. I could get lost, as weird as that sounds for a drone. Whatever. Time to put the plan into action.

Climbing down from a nearby sector's building, I double-checked my gear: cores, sword, radio, confidence. Seems I didn't forget anything. Let's do this. Speeding up, I covered the short distance in seconds and stood by the plant's entrance. May the Machine God save me.

Drawing my sword, I made a couple of precise cuts, causing the unsupported door to fall toward me. Getting crushed by a slab of osteel didn't sound fun, so I grabbed it and slipped through the opening.

Now this door wasn't just a door—it was a shield!

Seconds after entering the plant, gunfire rained down on me. Too bad for them, their bullets couldn't pierce my osteel shield, leaving only invisible scratches. Why use firearms when they have cool beam weapons? Oh, right—complexity and energy costs.

Under this barrage, I pushed toward the center of the room, holding a ton of indestructible joy in my hands. Or so I thought.

Until my gut screamed, "Something's burning."

Just in time. Dropping the door, I leaped away. The chunk of ultra-heavy, heat-resistant metal turned into molten lava—no other way to describe it. One second it was a door, the next it was gone. Melted. Got it—HEL's here. Beam weapons, damn them. But I've said how stupid humans are, right?

Hiding behind a support beam, I caught an EMP grenade at the last second. A couple of milliseconds of thought, and I hurled it back at them.

A clang and angry shouts followed. Now they're out of beam weapons.

Scanning the structure I was hiding behind, I spotted an electrical panel, its shiny metal surface stark against the rough concrete wall. Smirking, I yanked the panel's door off with some effort and gripped it tightly. With a chuckle, I stepped out from cover with a confident look. Time to tank—hardcore.

The guards didn't immediately realize I'd left my hiding spot and only aimed their guns at me after a couple of seconds. Too late. Taking a few bullets to the panel, which turned into a sieve, I threw it at one of the guards. Shifting focus to the others, I closed the distance and landed a brutal hook on one. His mask, resembling an operator's helmet, cracked but held. The guy didn't—he collapsed, spitting out teeth and blood. He forgot to open his mask, so his own blood obscured his vision.

Kicking him in the side, likely breaking a few ribs, I moved on to the others. The second guard managed to aim but not fire. Fatal mistake. Grabbing the barrel, I bent it aside, rendering the gun useless. While he stared in confusion, I slammed my foot into his solar plexus.

He flew back a couple of meters and hit the floor, gasping. One more down. That makes three, since the first was knocked out by the panel door.

The last one, the fourth, saw what happened to his buddies, dropped his weapon, and raised his hands in surrender, probably hoping I'd ignore him. Sorry to disappoint.

Walking past, I struck his neck, right at the carotid artery. A moment later, he was on the floor, unconscious like the rest. Surveying the scene, I continued toward the elevator. Plenty of unfinished business—this was just the start of the plan. Heh.

Next stop: the office. Time to meet my favorite metal dinosaurs. I love them so much, you have no idea.

Walking through the plant's half-empty corridors, I savored the silence and calm. I enjoyed the serene atmosphere I lacked in my past life. My steps echoed off the white-painted metal walls. Long lamps lit my path as I wandered, searching for the office entrance.

The office didn't keep me waiting long. I approached a metal door with a glass panel. I'd been here before, so it's no surprise I found it quickly. A terminal hung on the wall beside the door. I wouldn't need it.

Funny thing I learned by chance: these terminals aren't connected to the security system, so you can do whatever with them. During my surveillance, a Sentinel punched through one with a piece of metal, and nothing happened. Probably the same here. Let's test it.

Approaching the terminal, I grabbed its edges and ripped it from the wall. The blue screen went dark, and sparks flew briefly from the wall. That's all I needed—the door slid aside, politely letting me in. Raising a digital eyebrow, I tossed the terminal aside and stepped into the dimly lit office.

Quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Until it wasn't.

Shielding my eyes with one hand, I drew my sword and, with one precise strike, beheaded a Sentinel that appeared out of nowhere. Exhaling, I opened my eyes and looked at the metal corpse on the floor. The head, lying nearby, gave me one last glance before shutting down. All six eyes on its sides went dark, one by one, their blue light fading. The body twitched a couple more times before going still.

"First one down…" I said, kicking the head. It flew to the wall and stayed there as I moved on.

Passing office desks, I was struck by their… dullness? Sure, there were memes on the walls, but every monitor had the same damn beach wallpaper. Rolling my eyes, I casually dispatched another Sentinel without looking. I don't get what's so hard about fighting them. Just don't look at them and don't get too close… Maybe that's the trick? My sword's long enough. Sounds weird.

This Sentinel was sliced in half, its two parts collapsing and decorating the floor with oil and other technical fluids. Beautiful.

"Minus two," I muttered.

Exiting the office, I entered a long corridor lined with countless doors. My head flooded with flashbacks of an army of Sentinels. How V sacrificed herself, sending the main characters downward. (Author's Note: For Ai (or Andrey), episode 8 hasn't aired yet. He's working off the events of the first seven episodes.)

So noble of her, but sadly for her, I'm not planning to save her. No point, except maybe to make her brother happy. But even that's too much effort.

Moving slowly through the corridor, I kept expecting a trap. I'd only encountered two Sentinels so far—way too few. There should be at least fifteen. The lack of humans also raised suspicions. Could this be a genius trap for me? I just can't believe humans could pull off such an elaborate scheme to lure me in. Impossible.

The silence lasted until I reached the elevator shaft. And continued after. No one rushed me, no one threatened me. Too quiet. Cracking my knuckles, I leaned down and pried open the shaft doors, clearing the way. No key, but strength works. Heh.

Once the doors were wide enough, I smiled and jumped into the hole in the floor. To avoid picking up speed, I stabbed my sword into the wall to slow my descent. The graphene blade wouldn't take damage, and the wall could handle it—I'd stay alive.

It was a hundred-meter drop straight down, which I covered in ten seconds, landing smoothly in the mines without triggering any security systems. What idiots these humans are. No defenses in the mines themselves, and the ones upstairs were bypassed without much effort.

Brushing off invisible dust, I started my stroll through the mines. Exiting the small corridor with the elevator, connected to other corridors, I began "drawing" my map. Turning left, I walked through long caves, inspecting support structures that, thankfully or not, weren't about to bury me. Unless I damaged them. Heh… Ahem, need to stop thinking about that.

After a couple of minutes, I reached a dead end filled with… refrigerators. Yup, regular kitchen fridges. Opening one, I saw shelves packed with food.

Tilting my head, I left the dead end, searching for another path. After a bit, I hit another dead end with… a kitchen. Inspecting what was there, I shrugged and left. Nothing else interesting came up—just empty dead ends they hadn't built anything in yet. They could've, though. I know these meatbags.

The rest of the journey took me through familiar locations. Since my last visit, I'd memorized every dent in the walls, so navigating wasn't as hard as it seemed. A few minutes later, I reached another dead end, but this one was different. Rows of metal lockers on both sides of the entrance created a mysterious atmosphere, pressing on your mind, urging you to stay quiet. The thing is, it didn't work on me. With a silent chuckle, I spread my arms and shouted:

"Anyone alive in here?" My voice echoed. For a moment, it was so quiet it felt like the world stopped. Even the ceiling light flickered after my words. Then, rustling came from the lockers, lasting just a couple of seconds before someone spoke:

"Who the hell are you?" a gruff voice asked from one of the lockers. It was muffled but clear enough. So many test subjects here. After the guy's question, others chimed in, clearly curious about my identity. I could hear them agreeing with him. Heh, fun.

"What's that info gonna do for you? Food for thought? Something else? I'll just say I'm the guy who wasn't too lazy to raid this underground facility," I said, crossing my arms with a hint of pride, my gaze catching the ceiling lamp.

"Last time… I wasn't exactly welcomed warmly, right, Yeva?" I asked, shifting my gaze from the lamp to locker number 048. One of the quietest lockers here.

"Am I supposed to answer that? I clearly remember you threatening us… and the humans, saying your sister would destroy this place. Judging by what you're doing, are you planning to do it yourself?" That's why I like Yeva. She knows how to use information and judge based on events. Good job, best drone girl in this world. After Doll, sadly—my daughter's still my favorite.

"Wow. So Ai's back? Here to visit our trio?" The second voice was unmistakable—Nori, sitting in her locker, waiting for them to test Solver crucifixion on her. Which, by the way, hasn't been invented yet. A year's passed, and I still don't know why they have multiple Solver hosts. Or why they appeared so early. Whatever, let's skip that—worldbuilding quirks.

"You gonna wreck this place like you did the office four months ago? With flair and insane efficiency?" I expected nothing less from Nori. Still a fan of chaos and destruction.

"I'm surprised news reaches you, given your… situation. And no, I'm not here to destroy anything. It's actually in my interest that this place keeps running. I don't want to ruin months of work. Seriously, I came to update my map, noting changes to the security system and mapping these catacombs. Gotta be prepared for anything," I said, smiling and staring into nowhere. My mission was basically done—I could leave. But I was rudely stopped, not physically but verbally.

"You could be our ticket out of here! Honestly, I'm sick of sitting in these lockers," one drone said in an accusatory tone. Excuse me? He thinks I'm obligated to break him out? And I don't like the support he's getting:

"Yeah!"

"Truth!"

"Get us out of here!" and so on. Only three lockers stayed silent—Yeva, Nori, and Alice. I'm grateful for that.

With a calm face that was a total mask, I walked to the instigator's locker. Rage boiled in my mind like molten metal. No one dares treat me like that. A drone saw another drone as a servant.

My approach didn't go unnoticed:

"Oh, you're here to get me out! Hurry up!" He pissed me off. Drawing my sword, I raised it overhead, aimed, and swung vertically. The molecular blade sliced through the locker and the drone inside with ease. I heard his internals spill out, his arms go limp with a final servo creak. I killed him without mercy. He wasn't fit to be a Solver host. Not at all.

"I'm leaving. Good luck surviving the experiments," I said, ignoring their responses, and ran out of the dead end toward the elevator shaft. Time to play rock climber. Not that I mind, but still.

After sprinting through a few corridors, I reached the elevator. Diving into the shaft, I gripped the stone wall tightly and started climbing, holding on as firmly as possible. Where there were no holds, I punched out divots with my fingers and climbed them. I didn't look down—not out of fear, but to avoid accidentally knocking myself off the wall.

After fifteen minutes of climbing through stone, I finally emerged from the shaft. The doors were still open, but I had to pull off some parkour, pushing off the wall to grab the doors and climb up. Easier than I thought, though nerve-wracking.

Pulling myself up, I surfaced and sprinted toward the exit. I dashed through the corridor of doors in seconds, ignoring Sentinels that rushed me—one I shoved into a wall. The office got the same treatment, passed as quickly as New Year's in my pre-death world.

Bursting through the open door, I made a few turns and reached the plant's lobby. The unconscious bodies were gone, but bloodstains remained. It piqued my interest briefly, but I kept running. Crossing the lobby, I reached the exit and escaped without obstacles.

Not slowing down—in fact, speeding up—I headed for my sector, where I'd been hiding these past four months. I'd set up a cozy corner, cleared out the trash, and beat up the idiots who kept dumping it there. From the computer, I learned more about weapons and fighting styles. Time well spent.

Why's my body so strong? Thanks to the stupid special forces, who apparently can't tell a butler drone from a worker drone, like a miner. Miner drone limbs are two or three times stronger than mine, so using them is insanely convenient. The special forces left me various local drone limbs, and I happily attached them. Plus, they use less energy despite their increased strength. Industrial drone, baby.

Soon, I was back in my sector, sprawled in a beanbag chair I'd stolen from a shop. The clerks didn't notice—idiots. It's so nice to sit and do nothing, knowing I've already done everything. Beautiful. So beautiful.

"Mmm… rain…" I said, enjoying the warm droplets of this natural phenomenon sliding down my frame. Being a drone that "feels" is so pleasant. Sitting in a chair, staring at the evening—almost night—sky, feeling the glow of a dim orange lamp, and catching raindrops with my tongue. Bliss.

Cyn hasn't messaged me, which is odd. I thought she'd send something by now, but nothing. Silence. Not what I expected, but whatever—no time to cry. It doesn't concern me yet. When it does, I'll think about it. For now, it's just a minor annoyance.

The fun part? I haven't reached the main events yet. This is the "pre-canon" period—the core explosion hasn't happened, and humanity's still around. I've got to wait and wait. I'm tired of hiding from everything and everyone. I want freedom to explore what I want, not sit in some alley.

۞⦰۞

"Chapter Head? Hello." A special forces member stepped into the office and stopped by the door, waiting for an invitation. More accurately, it was the commander of the entire unit. He looked impeccably groomed, as if he hadn't just returned from a long mission tracking… an object. His black hair gleamed nobly, his face was clean-shaven, and his body showed no signs of fatigue.

"Evening, Carl," said the so-called "Chapter Head," not looking away from the window with its stunning view of the night city. With a wave, he invited the commander to sit in a chair. Carl didn't resist, plopping into the soft seat, waiting for the conversation to start.

"What did you learn from months of tracking Object-1?" the Head asked, sitting down himself, finally tearing his gaze from the nocturnal masterpiece. He grabbed a teapot from the coffee table, poured himself some boiling water, and offered Carl a cup.

Carl's response was prompt:

"No thanks. Object-1 is a very intriguing figure, considering all the time we've been tracking him." The commander grabbed a candy from a bowl, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth, continuing to speak.

"He has a personality—like a human, or rather, a human genius. He can handle any tech, remembers tiny details exceptionally well, and is capable of self-surgery." Carl took a deep breath.

"He's swapped out modules on himself multiple times, uses external cores as energy sources—likely because his own core has issues. And he seems to know our plans in advance. He reacted to every move with complete readiness, like he was expecting it." He finished, swallowing the candy.

These words sent the Head into deep thought. It wasn't clear what he was pondering—maybe why the object used extra cores or how he knew everything beforehand. The latter statement intrigued him, and he decided to share his thoughts.

"What's the likelihood he's accessed quantum tech and implanted one or more chips?" the Head asked, making Carl's eyes widen as he considered it.

"That could explain two things. The extra cores might be to support the chip, and his foresight could come from the chip itself. Trillions of probabilities per second isn't a joke—he could've calculated this conversation from miles away," the Head said, crossing his arms. He wasn't entirely sure, but dismissing the possibility that a small drone turned himself into a quantum computer was unwise.

"We… didn't consider that, since the object couldn't have accessed tech of that level. He didn't attack places with quantum technology," Carl replied, looking up at the Head. The dim office atmosphere was heavy, but Carl wasn't weak, meeting the Head's gaze confidently.

"I know, I read the reports," the Head said, waving a hand, then remembering something and addressing Carl again.

"How're the implants working?" he asked, recalling that Carl recently received implants that, per calculations, should greatly aid missions.

"Fantastic. I don't feel fatigue anymore, only need one and a half to two hours of sleep, and my overall energy's up," Carl said with some joy, glancing at the office ceiling. Those implants made his life far easier.

"Glad to hear. We sent you to track him because we know too little about him," the Head said, standing and walking to the window.

"The folks at the research department—Cabin Fever Labs—are stumped. Drones that interacted with the object dodge questions and withhold info. The object himself gives no clues. It feels like we're just wasting time…" He pulled a vintage pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco, heated it with a button on the side, and smoked, savoring the flavor.

"Then why keep tracking him if you think it's pointless?" Carl asked, confused by the Head's actions. If it's useless, why not call off the surveillance?

"Because we have no choice!" the Head shouted, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. He was infuriated by his inability to do anything about this "object." Even killing him was insanely difficult—he'd fight back, and if he's using quantum tech, it'd be not just hard but impossible. The Head didn't want it to come to that.

"The scientists want to capture this walking piece of metal and destroy him themselves! No, they want to dump it on the special forces and wash their hands of this genius drone. Idiots…" the Head spat, closing his eyes and continuing to smoke. Tonight, the pipe's smoke tasted even better than usual. Stress was undeniable.

"From what I gathered, he infiltrated the research department yesterday… Why didn't they catch him? It's what they wanted," Carl asked, rightly confused about why it happened. The drone walked right into the scientists' hands, but they didn't lift a finger.

"Their 'innovative' security system couldn't handle a crazy drone's onslaught… He sliced through an osteel door and used it as a shield. Disabled several beam weapons. Broke the guards' bones, then strolled through the complex! He somehow knew the terminals weren't part of the security system, so he ripped one out of the wall and walked through the door it opened," the Head hissed, catching his breath with another puff.

"And in the lab, he killed one test subject. Sliced it in half! Like a laser, not a blade. Get out—I need a break from this crap," he ordered, glaring furiously at Carl. The commander jumped up, saluted, and quickly walked to the door under the Head's heavy gaze. Without looking back, he left and closed the door, his fading footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

The Head exhaled and looked out at the night city again. His eyes showed only endless exhaustion and a refusal to deal with this mess any longer.

"My gut tells me… something terrible's coming…"

۞⦰۞

Date: June 28, 3050

Time: 11:43

It's been… an eventful six months. That's the only way to put it. Especially considering how often I had to run, mostly at top speed. Remember how I ran through the forest? Yeah, that kind of speed… It was awful and painful—painful for my cores. I never thought I'd have to sprint at 95 kilometers per hour nearly every week… Horrible…

The special forces went berserk. I don't have a single permanent base anymore. They all fell under the onslaught of people with beam weapons. I had to run from them like a criminal fleeing cops. I screamed, I resisted, but I couldn't fight back. There were just too many of them, with endless resources and the chilling argument of a VEL (Variable Energy Laser) aimed at my head, which really cooled my circuits and killed any desire to fight. Thankfully, the radio module always saved me, letting me escape the madness in time, but… relying on the radio module is too risky… They might figure it out…

During one of those escapes, I had to use multiple teleports. That time, they surrounded my base from all sides and didn't say a word about it on the radio. I barely escaped at the last second when I heard the hum of a VEL. A second later, I watched my tent—stolen from a store—turn not just into a sieve but into plasma. It was erased by that shot, leaving only melted asphalt behind. I had to teleport four more times to not just vanish from their sight but to escape to a farther sector. After that, I went on a local drone genocide to stock up on cores. Most importantly, I saved the computer.

Those escapes really helped me integrate my new limbs. Remember how I said local drone limbs are far more energy-efficient and powerful than my old ones? Well, when I attached them, they barely obeyed because of information overload. Too many commands and data were flowing through them, making them overly jerky. Slowing down the data flow fixed everything. But I didn't get any faster… sadly.

The good news? I finally got some proper practice with my sword, since my current base is on the edge of a forest. I practiced my strikes on trees. That's the kind of practice I was missing. Sure, I'd learned to cut steel and osteel, but trees were a problem. The sword got stuck in the bark and wouldn't go further. It pissed me off… before. Now, you could call me a sword master. I calculated every strike during my training and learned to "slice" trees clean through.

"Khh…" I hissed, smoothly slicing a poor tree that now looked like a tall stump. To a human, it'd seem like I just left marks on the pathetic thing, but in reality… I was doing something insane… And it was easy to prove.

A chunk of the stump slid down and hit the ground with a muffled thud, making it tremble slightly. At least I confirmed my techniques work, and I can finally use my main weapon to its fullest. I'm still a long way from Atomic Samurai levels—lightyears away—but it's a solid result. Sadly, I can't deflect bullets, or if I could, it'd be with a ton of caveats.

Unfortunately… my core's integrity is at 15%. It's awful… My movements have slowed, like I'm underwater, and it feels endless. In simple terms—I'm an old man. There's nothing plainer, but the fact remains: I've gone from a tough-to-kill bastard to a target. Slowed down and significantly weakened, though thankfully I can still run as fast as before, or I wouldn't have survived these crazy six months.

As for training efficiency… it's downright terrible. My movements are so slow I couldn't react to a special forces guy coming at me with a knife, let alone deflect bullets. I had the urge to curse the god who gave me this pathetic body again, but I held back. He gave me abilities and a second chance at life, so… it's a fair trade.

Over these six months… I got a new message from Cyn. I don't even want to quote it; it's barely different from the others. The same maniacal desire from my little sister to meet her big brother. I feel a ton of deception in those messages, but something inside tells me they're trustworthy. I don't know whether to trust my sudden sixth sense or not. Obviously, I chose the latter, or I'd have already sent her my coordinates.

How hasn't she found me yet if she's sending me messages? …Hmm… She might be broadcasting them into the open ether across all frequencies in every direction, and eventually, they reach me. That's why the radio module whistles before receiving a message! I'm a genius! Didn't think I'd figure that out. Honestly, though, it doesn't do me much good.

Another reason I haven't given Cyn my coordinates is my desire to finish all my plans. Find a worthy energy source, learn to use the Solver, and so on. Plus, Cyn will come to this planet sooner or later, so I see no point in cutting my time short.

Now the other question: what do I do for the next six months? I've already gotten everything I could from human society, and the rest can be collected after they're gone. Doing it now is impossible—I'd be turned into a pile of oily metal in no time. Fine… I'll have to gather all the knowledge from the internet while it still exists, and I'll have to do it fast… Ugh… I hope there's some benefit to this, but for now… I can rest…

۞⦰۞

"What am I?… Where am I?… Who am I?…" These questions pulsed painfully in my head. My vision blurred, my legs couldn't hold me. Or were they legs? Chunks of servos… or flesh fused with bone?… I didn't understand, I didn't feel anything… Nothing but an endless fall into darkness, no stars, nothing else… What am I? Human? Drone? What the hell's the difference?! I'm a being… I exist…

The fall into darkness continued… until… someone said…

"Wake up."

And I obeyed…

I was in an alley I'd taken… I don't know when. I didn't keep track of time while running from hordes of special forces, changing my hideouts—my sleeping spots—almost daily. I was always on the run… traveling between sectors, hiding, not hiding… They always found me. I even used the Solver to check for bugs or unwanted systems on me… Nothing… That's when I sank into endless apathy and despair, still running, still avoiding their eyes.

It was all pointless… It hurt…

Today was an off day. The special forces were called to some mission that outranked tracking my metal ass. I think they were glad to take a break from watching me and do something else. But tomorrow, it'll all continue… Sadly…

That dream, making me feel human again… puzzled me? I don't know what it all meant, but… it felt significant. Important… I don't understand… And who woke me up? No idea…

How much time is left until the Copper-9 core explosion? A month? More? I don't remember, honestly… I haven't checked the time in… a while…

Date: June 27, 3050Time: 22:59

"Man, was I wrong… Hah… I've got one hour to find shelter… And no one's gonna stop me, sweet…" I said, lazily rising from the asphalt where I'd slept. I need to cross… four sectors… They're small, but this walk'll take about forty-five to fifty minutes.

Where am I going? A simple question with a simple answer… Sector 17, where I first settled. The abandoned school. Warm memories I can't resist. I love them.

Fully restored mentally, I stretched and walked out of the alley at a steady pace. I was in Sector 13.

Passing by all these buildings, I imagined them soon turning to ruins. Big buildings would collapse from the initial shockwave. Smaller ones would lose their windows, maybe their doors. Eventually, time would claim them all. Maybe twenty years of nuclear winter won't do much, but after a long time… everything will perish, even the drones.

I read all about it on the internet, before all the running. If the disassembly drones kill all the workers, they'll die soon after. Oil freezes and becomes unusable, even when thawed.

The same goes for worker drones. If they don't leave their bunkers and start expanding, their kind could fall and vanish.

Fortunately or unfortunately, that won't happen. Cyn will arrive, and… the colony's survival depends on her plans.

I kept walking, passing countless unfamiliar people, drones, living beings in general. Soon, these cheerful meatbags would turn into piles of bones and clothes, standing or lying in the streets of Copper-9's sectors. Drones would awaken and form communities. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a "woke" drone community—drones with emotions… Though, I was human before, and they gained emotions on their own… We're different. Completely different.

Lost in these thoughts, I reached Sector 17. Walking through these familiar streets, I couldn't help but smile, remembering what I did here. Over there, I cut off a drone's head. That building I raided, stealing data from servers. Passing the entrance to JCJenson, I saluted the guards, who stared at me like I was the eighth wonder of the world.

Ignoring their looks, I kept going. Walking these streets, paved by my mind and strength, my thoughts were unstoppable. I remembered everything. Even random people walking back and forth like extras—I remembered it all. I remembered how people were shocked to see a drone with a sword and rebar, which I sadly lost. It was a great time.

As I calculated, I reached the school with 11 minutes and 47 seconds left until the explosion. Passing through the hole in the fence I always used, I began my stroll through the school grounds. Behind that shed, I killed my first drone. Lured him over and smashed his temple with all my strength… I remember it like it was yesterday…

(Author's Note: Fun fact. It's been about ten months in real time between that killing and this moment. I wrote about the killing ten months ago, so writing this part fills me with real nostalgia.)

Smirking, I stepped onto the school's porch and took one last look at the sunset. For years to come, it'll be hidden by clouds… and snow…

Sighing, I turned and stepped over the threshold, greeted by the empty atmosphere of the abandoned place. The place I used to live. Even oil and some parts still lay on the floor… Heh, no one's been here.

Walking through the hall, I entered the stairwell. Smiling, I began my ascent. Oh, on this landing, I found that rebar when I was half-dead… Not much different from now, honestly. Just weaker, with more knowledge.

Reaching the third floor, I approached the spot where I first woke up on this planet. I remember lying in a starfish position, thinking about what a nightmare I'd landed in. It's a shame to say, but these two years… they were just the beginning of that nightmare.

Sitting on the floor where I first awoke, right under the hole in the ceiling, I drew my sword from its magnetic scabbard and placed it beside me. It's about to begin… any moment now…

Time: 23:58

"Let the new life begin…" I whispered, closing my eyes…

(To be continued)

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