The first thing Acheron registered was the thirst.
It wasn't the dry, cotton-mouth craving of a hangover, but a profound, chemical fire that burned in the hollow of his chest. It demanded, a savage, rasping whisper that cut through the haze of whatever drug still clung to his veins. He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt like brittle glass and the sound of his own ragged inhale was amplified to the deafening roar of a jet engine.
Focus, he had to focus.
He forced his eyes open, the stark white room was too bright and clinical. The scent of ozone and antiseptic was overwhelming. His vision was razor-sharp, painfully so he could see every microscopic scratch on the chrome table he was strapped to, and the individual fibers of the sterile blue sheets covering his chest.
I was dead, a broken thought surfaced. I took the job. They… they chained me.
A sharp, digital chime pierced the silence, and a foreign interface snapped into existence directly in front of his eyes. It was translucent, overlaying his vision like a faulty augmented reality display.
\begin|SYSTEM STATUS: CRITICAL}
{SANGUINE SYNTHESIST [BETA 1.0]}
{STATUS}-PROPERTY OF VIGIL OF THE COVENANT} {HEALTH} {22/100 (STABLE)}
{EQUILIBRIUM} \15\% VAMPIRE / 85\% HUNTER DEBUFFS}
{ACTIVE: BLOODTHIRST (SEVERE) - [ALL STATS -20\%]}{CURRENT OBJECTIVE} {AWAIT INSTRUCTION. DO NOT ATTEMPT MOVEMENT.}end.
A wave of crushing despair hit him. It wasn't just text; it was a physical weight, a cold systemic certainty. Property. The word was a branding iron pressed into his soul.
He strained against the synthetic leather restraints, but his arms felt like lead. The effort instantly triggered a warning blare on the interface.
[WARNING: VIOLATION OF PROTOCOL 01. IMMEDIATE COMPLIANCE REQUIRED.]
A searing, electric pain spiked through his nervous system, momentarily freezing his muscles. He choked on a scream, tasting metal and blood. The pain was gone in an instant, but the message was clear: The System was the leash.
A door hissed open to his left. A woman entered, her footsteps silent on the polished floor. She was tall, impeccably dressed in a dark grey lab coat that contrasted sharply with the white room, and her expression was one of cold academic curiosity. This had to be the Architect.
"Good. The Beta is online," she said, her voice smooth and utterly devoid of emotion. She walked to a terminal near his head, her eyes fixed on the display, not on him. "Acheron. Your success rate exceeded our projected 0.3\% threshold. Congratulations. You are alive."
The name Acheron felt foreign and manufactured.
He tried to speak, but the words were a dry rasp. "My... my name isn't..."
She glanced down, a flicker of professional annoyance crossing her features. "Your previous designation has been purged for operational efficiency. You are Subject Acheron. You will comply with the System, or the System will neutralize you. The choice is irrelevant to me, but highly relevant to your continued existence."
She tapped a key, and the debilitating Bloodthirst debuff intensified, making his vision swim.
"You've noticed the hunger," she continued, completely ignoring his obvious pain. "It is controlled. Your Equilibrium is locked at a stable 15\%. That 15\% is enough for peak human performance, but insufficient for true vampiric autonomy. You will receive your controlled rations from your handler. Attempt to bypass this protocol, and your Corruption Debt will activate."
She turned, finally making eye contact. Her eyes were sharp, evaluating, as if studying a complex equation.
"And you don't want the Corruption Debt, Acheron. That costs us nothing, but it costs you everything."
She gestured to the screen, and a new window popped up with a single, blurry photo of a young woman smiling the ghost of a beautiful memory he couldn't quite grasp.
[Awaiting Input for Corruption Debt Penalty: MEMORY FRAGMENT 001. HUMAN IDENTITY PROTOCOL.]
The chilling implication was clear: his disobedience would not be punished by physical pain, but by the systemic theft of his last pieces of humanity.
"Now," Dr. Caine said, her voice dropping to a final, commanding tone. "Report to your assigned handler. You are cleared for deployment."
Acheron felt a sudden, massive surge of power—not his own, but a remote command that ripped the restraints from his skin and forced him to his feet. He swayed, his new, razor-sharp senses screaming in protest, but the System's will held him upright. He was already moving toward the door, a weapon in motion, his body owned.
His first, silent oath of vengeance was a flash of pure, black code across the System's interface: I will take back my mind or I will destroy your machine.