The black box hums faintly in my hands, vibrating against my palm like it's alive. I can't tear my eyes away from it. ORION's voice still resonates in my mind, calm and unwavering, almost like a presence sitting next to me.
"Host identified. Core bonded. My survival is now my primary directive. Initiating integration sequence."
I take a hesitant breath and grip the box tighter. "Integration sequence… what does that mean?" I ask aloud, though I know ORION can hear me perfectly.
"Integration is the process by which the host's physiology and the nano-core synchronize. Functionality will expand gradually. Initial enhancements active."
I frown. "Enhancements?"
Before ORION can answer, I feel it—a tingling surge that spreads from my chest down to my fingers, like a current running just beneath my skin. My heartbeat races, but in a way that feels controlled. My vision sharpens almost painfully. Every dust mote in the room floats like a spotlighted object. I can hear the faint hum of the appliances in the house. The refrigerator's soft buzz, the clock ticking on the wall, even the distant siren outside—clear as if the sounds were amplified directly into my mind.
"Host vitals stable. Minor physical enhancement active. Motor functions enhanced. Reflex assessment: 0.8 second improvement."
I blink, trying to process what he just said. Reflex assessment? My head spins. "You mean… I'm faster?" I mutter. Then, almost instinctively, I stand and move toward the desk, testing it. I drop a pen. My fingers react before I even think, catching it mid-fall. My breath catches.
"Correct. Additional strength and reflex improvement possible with calibration. Shall we continue?"
"Yes," I whisper. My voice shakes, but a part of me—some new part—is eager to know what else this can do.
I pace the room, raising my hand and focusing on small objects. I can feel the nano-core responding, adjusting my muscles with imperceptible precision. The hum of the black box resonates with my heartbeat. Every movement feels fluid, faster, and stronger, yet natural. I am moving like myself… but better.
"Calibration complete. Visual acuity enhanced. Auditory range expanded. Threat recognition active."
I freeze. Threat recognition? My heart stutters. Outside, the distant sounds of the city remind me of the chaos already spreading. WW3 is real, and the streets are no longer safe. I move to the window, peering through the cracked glass. Smoke rises from buildings blocks away, fires still burning from earlier blasts. A car rolls slowly across the street, abandoned. People are screaming, running, tripping over debris. I swallow hard. This is my world now.
"Host, this area contains multiple hazards. Immediate evacuation recommended."
I bite my lip, torn. Kaito is safe next door for now, but my parents… I have no idea where they are. My chest tightens. "I have to find them," I mutter, more to myself than ORION.
"Acknowledged. Risk assessment: high. Host priority—preservation first. Secondary priority—parents' safety. Tactical recommendation: proceed cautiously."
Cautiously. I almost laugh at the word, but my chest is tight. This is no drill. This is real. My hands hover over the black box as if it's a lifeline. The hum inside me feels like a pulse, steady and alive.
I step outside. The air is thick with smoke and ash. My vision, now enhanced, picks out details in the chaos I would have normally missed—the tiny cracks in the pavement from nearby blasts, the flicker of fire in distant windows, the silhouette of someone screaming down the street. My reflexes are faster. I can move more deliberately, more carefully.
"Host reflexes sufficient for urban navigation. Nano-core integration can further improve coordination if necessary."
I nod to myself. "I'll need that," I mutter. My sneakers hit the ground lightly as I run toward the street, weaving between debris. Each step feels effortless, my body responding without conscious thought. I glance toward Kaito's house—next door. He's already outside, waving frantically when he sees me. Relief floods my chest.
"Are you okay?" I shout.
He gives a thumbs-up, face pale but determined. "Yeah… for now. But this is insane!"
I barely nod before moving again, my mind on my parents' house—the back wing of our home, where their lab used to be. The black box hums in my pocket, almost guiding me. ORION's voice resonates in my head like a whisper in my thoughts.
"Host: caution advised. Surrounding area contains potential structural instability. Probability of encountering hostile elements: moderate."
I nod again. ORION is calm, precise. He feels… reliable, more than anyone else I've ever known. And maybe that's why I trust him already.
We move in tandem—me reacting, ORION calculating. The first person I notice is a neighbor, trying to carry his younger sibling across the street. My enhanced perception picks out the unstable ground beneath him. Without thinking, I dart forward and grab both, pulling them out of the collapsing path just before a fireball erupts from a nearby gas leak. My body moves faster than thought, stronger than I expect. The two stumble, thanking me, and I wave them off, adrenaline surging.
"Host: nano-core stress minimal. Physiological adaptation successful. Movement optimization ongoing."
I swallow hard. This is insane. I am insane. But it works.
By the time I reach my parents' bedroom, the house is quieter now, save for the distant groans of city chaos outside. The door to their study is slightly ajar. Inside, papers and devices are scattered everywhere. And there it is—the black box again, glowing faintly. I notice details I didn't before: faint scratches along the edges, a soft hum that feels almost alive, as if it's breathing.
I kneel in front of it. My fingers hover above the surface. I close my eyes, feeling ORION inside me, listening, waiting.
"Host: do you wish to proceed with full core activation?"
"Yes," I whisper. My fingers touch the black metal. Warmth flows again, spreading through me. My muscles flex, senses sharpen, reflexes heighten. It's intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
"Integration complete. Host vitality within optimal parameters. Nano-core fully active. Awareness enhancement: complete. Threat analysis: ongoing."
I open my eyes, scanning the room. Every object—the edges of the table, the corners of the room, even dust motes in the sunlight—stands out. My hearing picks up the faintest creaks in the floorboards, the distant sirens, the fire crackling outside. I am not just alive. I am hyper-aware, hyper-capable.
A soft knock at the window startles me. I glance over—Kaito, still pale, waves frantically. I wave back, signaling I'm okay.
"Host: initial calibration complete. Secondary enhancements available if required. Recommendation: rest and assess surroundings before proceeding outside."
I shake my head. "There's no time." My voice is calm, but adrenaline surges. The world outside is on fire. My parents are missing. I can feel ORION's calculations running through my mind, weighing danger, optimizing paths, analyzing threats.
I stand. Each step feels deliberate, controlled. I feel… ready. Ready to face the chaos, ready to discover what this black box, this ORION, has made me capable of.
Outside, the smoke rises. Buildings shudder. Sirens scream. People run, panic-stricken, oblivious to the fact that the world is no longer the same.
Inside me, ORION hums faintly, a constant presence, a guide, a guardian. I tighten my fist around the black box. My chest burns with determination. This is not just survival anymore. It is awakening.
I step into the hallway, feeling the floor under my enhanced senses. Every creak, every crack, every distant explosion is clear. My body responds instinctively, moving faster than thought. This is my city, my home, my legacy.
And I will survive it.