The old man ran, and despite his obvious age, he showed no signs of stopping. His original body had long been gone and destroyed; what remained was the weapons system he didn't ask for. Yes, his entire body was a weapons system. The old man didn't know where it had came from, only that he didn't want it.
The old man stopped running; he couldn't believe where he was. At first, he was in his house, watching a young high-schooler massacre everyone with his finger guns with only a camera and a remote connection.
The entire thing seemed absurd, but it was real, and it was happening. He was about to stop that young man when he suddenly fell through the floor and found himself in a strange place. The old man activated his flight system and tried to exit the way he went through, the ceiling, but it was already blocked.
Or rather, the ceiling refused to let objects through anymore.
The old man was stuck in a strange place. He had a family, a daughter to save, but because of his negligence, his daughter may die while he was stuck in this infinite place. The old man had been here for almost three days now.
The old man didn't need to eat for sustenance, but hydration was necessary for his body to remain in peak efficiency. He didn't face any dangers or any hazards yet, so his operational efficiency remained high.
The old man decided to stop flying after several hours of wandering on his first day here. The corridors were narrow, and the ceiling was consistently low. With a hard enough jump, anyone tall enough could reach the ceiling. The sharp turns also made any aerial navigation difficult if he forced himself to fly.
So, he decided to run instead. His legs didn't tire, and his breathing was mental rather than optional — a habit from his old mortal body. The old man then chanced upon the rotting body of a researcher or explorer or victim.
He approached the rotting cadaver; the body was in a state of advanced decay beneath the yellow containment suit. The old man didn't bother touching it or getting too close; the face area of the containment suit was splattered with black mortis liquid.
The old man collapsed and glanced at the ceiling; neither the height nor the dimensions changed. Wherever he looked, the same yellow texture persisted. He felt like he was going crazy; his robotic capabilities only extended to lethality, not extreme utility.
He had tried everything he could think of. He thought of using GPS, but there were no satellites. He thought of using his head as some receiver to scan for radio signals, but there were no signals. Digital and electronic navigation was a certain dead-end.
The old man slowly rose from the damp carpeted floor and slowly made his way into another room, the door was open, slightly ajar. Inside the room, he found only a single plastic chair in the center of the room, with a flashing ceiling light above it. He decided to sit down for a while and gather his thoughts.
His aimless wandering didn't produce anything. He was on the brink of a mental breakdown. He slumped and clutched his head, his prescription eyeglasses falling to the carpeted floor.
"Just where is the fucking exit... please... god..." The old man muttered, tears almost flowing out of his eyes. An identification card fell out of his chest pocket. Ichiro Inuyashiki was the old man's name. Although he hadn't reached sixty yet, he looked like a senior in his late sixties due to stress and a chronic sickness.
"My daughter... My son... My wife..." Ichiro muttered.
"They need me. I need them. Get me out of here..." He pleaded, but no one came.
The old man, not religious for a long time, decided to start praying. Hoping that whatever turned his body into a dangerous and lethal weapons system would heed his prayers and remove him from this infinite prison.
...
...
...
The constant buzzing of the ceiling lights flooded his ears to the point that he couldn't even hear himself think. Ichiro slowly rose from the plastic chair and left the room, still on the verge of a breakdown. He held himself close. Barely.
Ichiro wandered for two more hours before entering a room full of old computers. The computers were the products of the golden age of the internet, the early two thousands. His face brightened for the first time because he might be able to contact the outside world.
Ichiro pulled up a chair and sat in front of the old computer. He wasn't good with any gadgets, but his body made up for it. He saw that the computer was already plugged in and merely touched the computer's monitor.
The monitor lit up, humming in activation.
The Windows scene appeared. Windows XP. Then the blank desktop. There was nothing there but Ichiro, with his digital miracles. He merely touched the monitor again and focused, thinking of a way to connect to the internet.
Then nothing. So, he pulled out his phone and placed it near the computer. Then focused again, connecting the phone with the old computer.
The result became a miracle. A computer from the early two thousands suddenly had the Facebook logo and application. Then, the phone's dial application. Ichiro materialized whatever digital miracle he could but still couldn't fully utilize it.
There was no internet, no signal, no satellite, no radio towers, nothing. There was nothing to connect to. Ichiro groaned, stood up, and whacked the computer monitor away. Shattering it and sending it flying.
Ichiro then heard the door behind him slowly creak open. Then the careful footsteps. Ichiro's expression beamed; there were people, he thought.
He turned to the door and instead found something he couldn't explain. He knew what that figure was; almost everyone in modern Japan knew about it. A robot, a smaller one, roughly the height of a child.
The child-sized robot had a big head with a red nose and whiskers. The robot was like a living, breathing, huge teddy bear. The robot featured round, fingerless hands and flat, circular feet. A red collar with a yellow bell was on its neck. A thin nylon-like wire tail with a red ball on its end.
"Eh? A person!?" The child-sized robot muttered as it massaged its head in disbelief. Then it sighed and smiled. "Nobita-kun, you were right, you did see a person!"
"I told you!" A child behind the child-sized robot muttered.
Ichiro stared, thinking that he was losing his mind, and then collapsed from the stress. His system overloaded from the accumulated psychological fatigue.
(The next chapter is...)
(I hope there are no mistakes.)