Zayn decided, quite scientifically, that being a "Tier 1 Primal" felt exactly like being hit by a freight train made of frozen mercury, followed by being stepped on by a very heavy, very angry elephant.
He lay in the red dust of Iron-Grip Canyon, staring at the sky. His vision was swimming in a sea of grey pixels. The "Limp" status wasn't just a stat reduction; it was a total biological betrayal. His muscles felt like overcooked noodles, and his bones had the structural integrity of wet cardboard.
[Status: Limp (Duration: 23:42:11)]
[Physical Output: 20% of Base]
[Cognitive Load: Heavily Strained]
"I... hate... math," Zayn wheezed. Even his voice sounded thin, like a flute with a crack in it.
A shadow fell over him. It wasn't the shadow of a Syndicate transport or a vengeful god. It was smaller, feathered, and smelled like rotting garbage. A Canyon Vulture, a mangy scavenger with a beak designed to crack open armor like a nut, landed three feet away. It tilted its head, looking at the "Apex Predator" who was currently struggling to lift his middle finger.
"Don't even... think about it," Zayn croaked. "I'm eighty percent... inedible."
The bird hopped closer, its talons clicking against the stone. Normally, Zayn could have turned this bird into a fine red mist with a sneeze. Now, it looked like a Final Boss.
"Okay, fine," Zayn muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Tactical assessment. Target: One flight-capable scavenger. Threat Level: Catastrophic in current state. Win condition: Don't get my eyes pecked out by a literal trash-bird."
He reached for his belt. His hand moved in slow motion. It took him five agonizing seconds to retrieve a small, jagged piece of metal—a fragment of a Syndicate helmet.
The bird lunged.
Zayn didn't have the speed to dodge, so he used the only thing he had left: his Battle IQ. He didn't move his body; he just tilted his wrist. The bird's beak slammed into the metal shard instead of Zayn's throat.
CLACK.
The vulture let out a startled squawk, its beak vibrating from the impact. Before it could recover, Zayn used his legs—which felt like they were filled with lead—to perform a pathetic, low-energy roll. He didn't stand up; he just flopped onto the bird's wing.
[Critical Hit (Accidental)]
The bird panicked, flapping wildly and hitting Zayn in the face with its dusty wings. It was a chaotic, pathetic struggle. There was no "Apex" energy here. It was just a blood-soaked boy and a very confused bird rolling around in the dirt.
"Die... you... feathered... mop!" Zayn yelled, finally managing to pin the bird's neck under his elbow. With a desperate, 20%-strength twist, he ended the fight.
[Target Deleted: Canyon Vulture]
[XP Gained: 2 (Penalty Applied)]
[System Note: That was embarrassing to watch.]
"Shut up," Zayn gasped, letting the dead bird fall. He was covered in grey feathers now, adding to the layer of blood and oil. "I'm a Tier 1 Primal. I've earned the right to be embarrassed."
"I've seen some pathetic things in this canyon, but that? That's going in my Top Ten."
The voice was female, sharp, and dripping with sarcasm. Zayn froze. He hadn't heard anyone approaching. His sensory range was currently about as wide as a dinner plate.
A girl stepped out from behind a pile of burning tires. She looked about Zayn's age, wearing a patchwork cloak made of signal-dampening fabric and a pair of goggles that glowed with a soft neon green. On her hip was a massive, oversized wrench that looked like it could crack a tank.
"Who... are you?" Zayn asked, trying to look menacing while lying flat on his back covered in bird feathers.
"The name's Rora. I'm a 'Sanitation Specialist'," she said, walking over and poking the wreckage of a Syndicate transport with her wrench. "Which is a fancy way of saying I scavenge the stuff the Syndicate is too dead to keep. And judging by the smell of brain matter, you've been very busy."
She looked at Zayn, her goggles clicking as they zoomed in on his face. "You're the one. The 'Canyon Butcher'. The Syndicate comms have been screaming about a high-rank glitch for thirty minutes."
"I'm not... a glitch," Zayn said, trying to push himself up. He made it about three inches before his arms gave out and he faceplanted into the dirt. "I'm... a menace."
"You look like a potato," Rora deadpanned. She walked over and stood over him, hands on her hips. "A Tier-Break penalty, right? You went into Overdrive and now your body is trying to liquefy itself."
"It's a... mechanical necessity," Zayn muttered into the dust.
"Whatever. Look, Butcher, you're in a bad spot. The Syndicate has a backup squad coming from the North Gate, and they aren't bringing recruits this time. They're bringing a 'Bishop-Class' Inquisitor. If you're here when they arrive, they're going to put your head on a pike and use your body for science experiments."
Zayn's eyes flared gold for a microsecond. "I'd like... to see them try."
"Yeah, I'm sure you'd glare at them very aggressively while they're dissecting you," she rolled her eyes. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, metallic sphere. She tapped it, and it expanded into a hover-stretcher. "I'm going to help you. Not because I like you, but because the bounty on a living Tier 1 Primal in the High Hegemony black market is enough to buy me a new life."
"I'm... not for sale," Zayn growled.
"Sure you aren't. But until you can walk without vibrating, you're 'cargo'. Now get on the stretcher or I'll leave you here for the Inquisitor. He likes to keep people alive while he peels them."
Zayn looked at the hover-stretcher, then at the horizon where a faint, high-pitched whine signaled the approach of high-speed interceptors.
"Fine," Zayn sighed. "But if you... touch the tunic... I'll kill you tomorrow."
"Deal. I wouldn't touch that thing anyway; it looks like it's held together by gore and spite."
She hauled him onto the stretcher. As the magnetic locks clicked around his waist, Zayn felt the world begin to blur. The "Limp" status was dragging him into a forced sleep mode.
"Hey, Rora," Zayn whispered, his eyes half-closed.
"What?"
"Do you... have any wet-wipes?"
Rora paused, looking at the blood-soaked, feather-covered monster on her stretcher. She let out a short, sharp laugh. "Kid, we're going to the High Hegemony Outskirts. They don't have wet-wipes. They have acid baths and sonic cleaners."
"Close enough," Zayn muttered, and finally passed out.
[Current Status: Captured/Rescued by Rora]
[Zayn's Condition: Unconscious Potato]
[Time to Cooldown: 22:15:00]