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Pain and disorientation. Those were the dominant sensations filling the being of the man known as Christian Mora. The pain was so intense it seemed to split his body in two. Fortunately, the agony lasted only for an instant. In that sense, he could consider himself lucky. However, the disorientation persisted.

He opened his eyes with annoyance, only to find himself looking at the image of a poorly lit alleyway illuminated by the faint nocturnal light of the moon. The place was a desolate sight: foul-smelling, littered with garbage, rotting flesh, and pools of blood.

For most people, waking up in a place like that would have caused concern or even panic. But for Christian, this was nothing more than a reminder of his occasional wild nights after a few beers. Moments when all logical restraints in his mind vanished, and his most authentic jerk-self emerged, the one that thought any idea—no matter how absurd or bizarre—was a great idea. Perhaps that was why waking up in a filthy alleyway, an abandoned building, or even a church didn't surprise him as much as it might have surprised anyone else.

Slowly and lazily, he began to lift himself from the wall where he had been leaning. Once he was fully standing, he let out a big yawn. The absence of any alcohol smell on his breath left him a bit confused at first, but he ignored it, reasoning that the lack of smell was due to his regular habit of taking mints to hide his drinking… although it rarely actually worked.

As his thoughts revolved around the absence of alcohol on his breath and the disorientation in his mind, a new thought formed, one that quickly put him on alert.

What was that thought?

The fact that he couldn't feel his wallet on him.

Quickly and frantically, Christian began searching for it. First, he rummaged through the pockets of his jacket, only to realize he wasn't even wearing one. Then he moved on to his pants pockets, checking over and over again as if enough insistence would miraculously make it appear. From afar, anyone watching would have thought he had squirrels in his pants… or that he was still completely drunk.

In the end, after an exhaustive and even ridiculous self-pat-down and bending down to inspect the ground in hopes that his wallet had fallen, the bitter reality became clear. Not only was his wallet gone, but he was also missing his phone, headphones, and house keys. In short, he had lost everything.

"Shit"

That was the only word that escaped his lips, laden with frustration. A simple word, but a sincere one—probably one of the most genuine expressions he had uttered in a long time.

In a situation like that, many people would have panicked. Losing all your belongings could unleash a torrent of emotions: hyperventilation, extreme anxiety, even a desperate attempt to find a solution. But Christian wasn't like most people. Instead, he simply let himself fall to the ground, right where he had woken up, and covered his face with both hands. A long, tired sigh escaped his lips.

"No, not again"

That was the reason he didn't feel the usual avalanche of emotions. Because for him, as a good Latino, being robbed of his belongings by the so-called motochorros in some places had almost become routine. An annoying, frustrating, but damnably and regrettably normal part of his life.

Releasing his face and recalling his psychologist's recommendations, Christian began taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. It was a simple but effective routine… or at least it was for him… sometimes.

Once he was calm enough, at least by his standards, he began evaluating his options in the current situation. After a moment of reflection, his possibilities were practically reduced to just one: figuring out where the hell he was and finding his way back home.

With those thoughts in mind, Christian glanced around in search of a way out of the alley.

The dim moonlight, though insufficient, allowed him to identify two possible exits: one to the right and one to the left. Each end was marked by something peculiar that immediately caught his attention.

Besides the faint moonlight, both paths seemed to have an additional source of light—a yellowish glow that flickered softly at the entrances. Something he immediately identified.

"Fire," He thought with curiosity and puzzlement.

Given that he found himself in an urban area, the presence of fire—one large enough to illuminate the entrances so significantly—could only mean two things. Either there was a massive outdoor community barbecue happening, or something was on fire.

This last detail was especially striking because if that were the case, a new and gigantic can of worms would open with it. One whose danger was entirely unknown to him and, therefore, something he wanted to avoid.

After getting up from the ground and reflecting on it for a moment, he decided to head toward the left exit. During the brief journey there, his mind began to clear, and he became surprisingly active and aware.

This caught him by surprise, especially considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed the previous night, which should have been more than enough to leave him with a tremendous migraine upon waking.

That was the first sign that something was wrong. The mere fact that he was in relatively good condition—well, mostly mentally. His body was still terribly weak, weaker than it had ever been in his life. Even worse than that time he had dengue. Which was surprising given the effects of that crap.

His weakness was so pronounced that every step toward the exit made him feel utterly exhausted. Christian thought that something strange was happening, a feeling reinforced by the fact that he couldn't see well in the dark—something he was already accustomed to due to his general activity schedule and his windowless room.

Another detail that raised alarms in Christian's mind wasn't the fact that everything was shrouded in darkness, with apparent fires illuminating in the distance, nor even the bloodstains and other fluids scattered on the alley floor. No, what truly unsettled him was the total absence of sound generated by humans or animals.

"Aren't they the same thing?" His consciousness asked with some amusement and curiosity.

"Not now" Was his simple response, and the voice went away.

Absolute silence surrounded him, broken only by the soft, cold wind that swept through the night—well, that and temporarily by his consciousness. The hairs on his body stood on end immediately, an instinctive alert response he had never experienced before. And this was surprising, considering he had grown up in a third-world Latin American country where muggings and tense situations were almost routine, especially at night and in scenarios like this.

From experience, he knew that absolute silence was far more terrifying than blood or lack of light. There was always noise, whether it was the distant murmur of people, the sounds of everyday life, or even cries of alarm. In situations like this, where the lack of light and the bloodstains would have caused a commotion, the sonic void felt unnatural.

However, there he was, surrounded by that overwhelming silence, with only his thoughts and a soundless void that seemed to absorb everything around him. Something was deeply wrong, and he knew it for certain.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he almost walked straight into a metal ladder attached to one of the buildings in the alley. He avoided it by a hair's breadth, the sudden shock snapping him out of his mind and throwing him back into cold reality.

As he approached the exit of the alley, new sounds began to reach his ears: the unmistakable crackle of fire, an intermittent hissing, and the characteristic popping of flames feeding on dry materials.

The confirmation that there was a fire in the area sent another chill down his spine. His steps became more cautious and quieter, trying to make as little noise as possible. This, fortunately, was made easier by the sneakers he was wearing—a detail that struck him as curious, as he was sure he hadn't been wearing them the previous night.

Once he reached the exit and leaned against the right wall to rest his weak body and hide in the shadows, the sight of the place before him was revealed, and that was when he knew things were very wrong.

To put it simply, the entire area looked like something out of an apocalyptic movie or series. Abandoned cars, some crashed into poles or each other were scattered along the street as if a stampede had left them in its chaotic wake. Bloodstains, both dried and fresh, covered stretches of the pavement.

The surrounding structures weren't in better shape. Many had broken windows, shards of glass scattered across the ground that glinted faintly under the flickering glow of the fires. Burn marks in the form of blackened smudges marred their surfaces, along with some holes in their structures, from which fire still poured in some cases. A clear indication of how those holes were formed.

Speaking of the fire itself, it was scattered in small blazes throughout the area. Whether in the cars, the buildings, the street itself, or even on... corpses.

What Christian initially thought were irregular shadows cast by the debris or the flickering light turned out to be corpses.

Some were partially consumed by flames, while others lay in grotesque positions as if they had fallen while trying to flee from something. Others, and undoubtedly the most curious, were partially or almost completely dismembered, or outright dismembered entirely.

The reason why they are the most striking among the corpses is due to their state of bodily destruction, one that, as far as Christian knows—both from personal experience and his human anatomy classes with cadavers—can only be inflicted by another living being, whether human or animal.

"Aren't they the same?" Christian's consciousness asked again, this time with mockery and amusement.

Ignoring it for now, Christian gave a few glances at the streets and behind him before starting to move uneasily and slowly toward the corpses. The reason he did this was to see if he could find anything useful—whether it be a clue about where the hell he was and what was happening, or something to defend himself with.

"This isn't an RPG, idiot," His consciousness said mockingly "Still, it might be useful... do it."

As he moved through the area, specifically along the right side of the street from the perspective of the alley he had come from, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Christian had to be thankful for two things. First, the fire and smoke in the area weren't intense enough to hinder his breathing or vision. And second, that in the time he'd been unconscious and until now, he hadn't attracted the attention of anything or anyone.

Stopping at one of the more intact corpses in the area, Christian gave a few more glances around, seeing nothing but corpses and debris, before crouching down and beginning to search the body. He wouldn't lie—he felt uncomfortable doing this—but it was the best he had at the moment. The only thing he regretted was not having gloves to avoid contaminating himself with who-knows-what.

The appearance of the corpse was that of a young adult male of average size, with dark hair and brown skin—or at least that's what it seemed like in the firelight. His eyes were closed. He was wearing a white shirt, dark blue jeans, and black shoes with white lines. His most distinctive feature, apart from the broken state of his body, was the metal rod currently piercing his chest, right through his heart.

Christian observed the angle of the body and the metal rod, trying to reconstruct the scene.

"He must have fallen from above," He thought, his eyes moving toward the rooftops of the nearby buildings "Or someone stabbed him with this and left him here"

Both possibilities were unsettling, but there was no way to confirm either. Just in case, he scanned his surroundings again, looking for any signs of danger. Finding none, he returned to what he was doing.

The contents of the body were nothing special: just a wallet, a touchscreen phone of an unknown make and model, and a pair of wired headphones. Simple things that any modern human would carry.

Christian tilted his head from side to side as he pondered whether what he had just found was useful. Ultimately, he concluded that it was. He stuffed the phone and headphones into the front pockets of his pants—a reckless move, considering where they had come from. However, he decided that the risk was worth it, as he had no other means of communication with his family. With that settled, he turned his attention to the wallet.

"Let's see" He muttered as he adjusted his eyes to better see the contents, aided in part by the surrounding firelight. "A few crumpled dollars, a couple of credit cards from banks I don't recognize, an ID, and a U.S. driver's license. Not much, but useful"

Without overthinking it, he slipped the money into the back pocket of his pants. Christian figured it wouldn't hurt to have some cash in case he needed something—like food or a cab. Besides, he had already taken the phone and headphones, so if he ended up facing the police, he wouldn't be in a worse situation than he already was.

Once the money was secured, he took a moment to examine the IDs. This was more out of curiosity and to find out to whom the corpse he was looting had belonged, as well as for a possible clue about where the hell he was.

"Rico Franbouw, huh? Weird name. Twenty-three years old, date of birth" He began reading from the ID and driver's license, which essentially said the same thing, although the ID contained more details.

The information obtained from the ID wasn't particularly remarkable, other than confirming that the man appeared to be from Virginia. Everything else was pretty much useless, though at least it served as a mental exercise of sorts. It also reminded him of the fact that he wasn't wearing his glasses and yet could still see perfectly.

"This has to be a dream or something," he thought with a certain frustration at this realization, dragging his hand down his face to confirm if this was real. "And the worst part is, this would be the most normal one I've dreamed about to date."

"Hey, look on the bright side" His consciousness came back to bother him "Now you can appreciate the beauty of Black women without needing any help"

"Eh... good point" He agreed with his consciousness on that.

Finally, after reflecting for a while on the beauty of Black women, he began to stand up, intent on finding a place to rest his tired and weak body and to continue his search in the morning.

Normally, he would keep looking for clues about where he was and how to get back home. But given the overall darkness, the chaos of the area, the dangers—both direct and indirect—and the fact that his damn body was acting strange, he decided that rest was the best course of action for now.

However, those plans quickly fell apart. A peculiar and disturbing sound emerged beside him; a noise as strange as it was macabre. It was coming from the corpse.

Soft growls and moans escaped the body, though calling it a corpse might have been a poor description, as it was alive—something that seemed illogical given that a metal rod was currently piercing its body, and the body itself was somewhat mangled.

Moved by stupidity, curiosity, and partly by the idea that this was just a dream, Christian, instead of fleeing the scene, decided to stay.

The body, in an act defying all current human logic, growled and began to move. Its eyes darted back and forth as if possessed, finally stopping with its gaze fixed on Christian.

He wouldn't lie—such an action disturbed him quite a bit, causing his heart to beat harder, a reaction only amplified when he saw how the body started to rise from the ground slowly and awkwardly, yet strangely implacably and strongly, ignoring the logical fact of having a metal rod stuck in its chest and the obvious inconvenience—such as death.

"A zombie" His consciousness commented with a sort of indifference and boredom "Well, you were playing Resident Evil 4 Remake yesterday, so I guess it makes sense you'd dream about this... kill it"

Obeying what his consciousness said, and completely ignoring the unsettling calmness with which it had ordered him to kill, Christian lunged at the zombie. He didn't have enough strength to crush its head or a proper weapon, so he decided to grab the metal rod in its chest and use it as a weapon.

His hands, weak but determined, closed around the cold, rusty metal. The resistance from his prey was immediate. The zombie growled with a guttural sound, its mouth opening and its arms stretching out, trying to grab him and tear off a piece of flesh. The zombie's hunger was horrifying.

Christian responded by landing a strong kick to its stomach. The impact caused the creature to stagger back slightly, though it didn't fall to the ground as he had hoped, nor did it dislodge the rod from its body.

The zombie attacked again, and once more, Christian responded with a direct kick to the creature's stomach. This cycle repeated for several minutes, each blow draining more of his strength.

"Of course, this couldn't be like in the movies," he thought in despair and frustration. His breathing was a labored pant, sweat running down his forehead, mixing with the dust and grime of the area. "Ah, damn weak body, where's my adrenaline rush for the impossible battle?"

One more kick, then another, and three more followed the same pattern. Finally, in an unexpected and fortunate turn of events, the metal rod dislodged from the zombie's chest. The sound of metal tearing through flesh and bone filled the air, and both the creature and Christian fell heavily to the ground from the force of the pull.

The impact was rough, knocking the air out of his lungs for a moment. Dazed, he struggled against the disorientation, helped both by his survival instinct and the sounds of the zombie.

The zombie, unrelenting and without pain, began crawling toward him. Its clumsy hands clawed at the ground, and its jaw opened and closed in a grotesque attempt to reach flesh.

Christian took a deep breath, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest and the exhaustion clouding his thoughts. With what little strength he had left and using the rod as a crutch, he forced himself to stand, wobbling to his feet.

Once on his feet and faced with the imminent attack of the zombie before him, he had only one option.

Without thinking twice, he raised the rod above his head and brought it down forcefully on the creature's skull.

A dry, unpleasant sound echoed through the air. The first blow caused the zombie to pause for a moment, but it wasn't enough to finish it off.

"Don't stop!" His consciousness shouted, a cold yet urgent voice resounding in his mind.

Christian obeyed. Again and again, he raised the rod and brought it down with all the weight of his desperation. Each strike was accompanied by the sound of breaking, a crunch that echoed in the silence of the night.

The skull began to give way, its structure cracking under the metal and brute force. Dark, thick blood gushed out like a fountain, mingling with the remnants of flesh and bone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the zombie's body fell still. Its head was now little more than an unrecognizable mass of flesh and bone.

Due to a lack of strength, Christian let the bloodied metal rod fall to the ground, the sound of metal striking concrete echoing through the area, and he collapsed to his knees. Deep, rapid breaths escaped his mouth, the sensation of being on the verge of fainting more present now than ever—and that was saying something, considering he'd once stayed awake for two days straight without the help of energy drinks or drugs to stave off sleep.

"This... doesn't feel... like a..." His thought was abruptly cut off when an uncontrollable nausea forced him to vomit. A mix of saliva, phlegm, blood, and other unknown substances spilled from his mouth, leaving an acidic, metallic aftertaste on his tongue. "Damn... why am I so weak?"

The answer never came; instead, there were only his tired, primitive gasps. So tired and weakened was he that any attempt to protect himself or fight at this moment had become a fantasy, and it was for that reason that what happened next occurred.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and as he slightly lifted his head, he became aware of the remnants of a giant shadow in front of him. Before he could even process what he was seeing, a guttural sound—a low, menacing growl—resonated behind him, causing his body to tense immediately.

Instinctively, and with the little strength regained from his extremely short and insufficient rest, he turned on himself. His left arm extended reflexively, an act of desperation and primal defense as if that movement could stop whatever was behind him. However, that simple action—born more of instinct than reason—was what marked the difference between life and death. Though, as with everything in life, it didn't come without a cost.

A zombie about to attack him was what greeted him as he turned, one that, with clumsy yet determined movements, lunged at him with the fierceness of a hungry predator. Instead of aiming for his neck or torso, as he had expected, the creature went directly for the closest piece of flesh—his outstretched hand.

The bite was brutal. A sharp, excruciating pain shot through his left hand as the zombie's teeth pierced his skin and flesh. Christian let out the loudest screams of his life, filled to the brim with panic, pain, fear, and other debilitating emotions.

The zombie didn't care in the slightest about Christian's screams. For the creature, only hunger and the insatiable need to devour existed. Its teeth sank into Christian's arm again and again, mercilessly tearing flesh and tissue. Three more bites pierced his skin before the young man's mind processed the horror and reacted, and two more followed before adrenaline flooded his system, giving him the strength to fight back.

With a cry of fury and pain, Christian lifted his right leg and delivered a strong kick directly to the zombie's chest. This time, the impact managed to separate it from its prey on the first attempt. The creature was flung backward, stumbling and falling clumsily onto the dirt- and rubble-covered ground.

A soft sigh of relief escaped Christian's lips, but it quickly vanished at the sight of his left arm and its current state. A new wave of terror coursed through his body. The zombie's final bite had torn out a large chunk of flesh, exposing the bone beneath and leaving fragments of shredded tissue visible. Blood gushed uncontrollably, staining his pants and dripping to the ground.

A dizzying sensation began to cloud his mind, one he had to crush with all his might. His teeth clenched so hard they nearly broke, a testament to his resolve. Given the current situation, such a luxury was not something he could afford—especially with the zombies beginning to rise again.

Weakened both physically (though not as much as before thanks to the adrenaline) and mentally, and now effectively missing a limb in all but name, only one option remained for him: flee.

Summoning all the remaining strength in his being, Christian sprang to his feet. The motion was too abrupt for his battered body. A sharp pang shot through his abdomen, and a small line of blood escaped his mouth, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. In any case, once he was on his feet, he held his mangled arm against his body and began to run back to the alley where he had awoken.

The reasoning behind his decision was practical and direct: the stairs. He remembered there were metal emergency stairs attached to the wall in that alley—the kind used to climb to building rooftops. He wasn't sure if his body could manage to climb, especially with one arm rendered useless, but any option was better than facing those things again and being devoured...more than he already had been.

As he ran toward the alley, he noticed how the corpses that had previously laid motionless on the ground began to stir. Some trembled slightly, while others simply rose with a macabre slowness as if death itself commanded them. Even those whose bodies were engulfed in flames staggered forward, their eyes fixed on Christian. All of them began to advance toward him, slow and lifeless in pace, but unrelenting and firm.

All this did was heighten Christian's fear and panic, which, ironically, was beneficial as it served as a good distraction from the constant pain and exhaustion coursing through his body, as well as the noises surrounding him.

When he reached the alley entrance, he didn't hesitate for a second. Without looking back, he dashed into the darkness of the narrow passage. A mix of memory, and natural light, his eyes slightly adjusted to the dark, and pure luck allowed him to distinguish the shapes of his surroundings enough to see what he had come looking for: the stairs.

Anchored to the wall, was a typical metal emergency staircase—the same one he had nearly bumped into after waking up, and now his only hope. He recognized it immediately, and the sight of that firm, familiar structure drew a sigh of relief from him.

"Finally..." he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

The relief was short-lived.

The moment he let out that exhalation was also the instant his mind, for a second, allowed itself to lower its guard. And in that moment, his perception sharpened. The sounds around him became clear.

Groans.

The dragging of feet against the ground.

The sound of flesh and bone moving irregularly.

They were coming from the other end of the alley.

His eyes focused on the direction the noises were coming from. His body froze for a second, as if instinct itself commanded him not to move. And then, he saw them.

Shadows.

Several figures approached from the other end of the alley, moving with that slow, eerie march he had already learned to fear. Some of them stumbled, while others walked with an unnatural stiffness, but all without exception heading toward his position.

His breathing became erratic. A cold chill ran down his spine, while beads of sweat rolled down his face. He was weak and trapped, unable to do anything except pick up his pace. It cost him small threads of blood escaping his mouth and forced him to let his mangled arm hang loose. The pain of the air brushing against his exposed arm was a strange blessing—it helped keep him awake.

Once at the stairs, he quickly grabbed onto the rungs and began to climb. The process was excruciatingly difficult given his injured left arm and his severely weakened state, which caused him to nearly fall off about ten times. Such a fall would have killed him regardless of the height, mostly due to the horde of zombies now beneath him, screaming and growling like animals. By this point, it was clear that the only thing keeping him going was the fear, pain, and adrenaline coursing through his body.

When he finally reached the top of the stairs and moved far enough onto the roof, he let himself collapse onto his back with a dull thud. His entire body felt heavy, as if he had been carrying an immense weight for hours.

Rapid, labored breaths escaped his mouth. His chest rose and fell violently, each inhale feeling like fire burning in his lungs. His heart pounded so hard it seemed as if it might burst from his chest at any moment.

The pain quickly reclaimed his body. A torrent of sharp, searing, and stabbing sensations spread through every muscle, joint, and nerve. His left arm—or what remained of it—demanded most of his attention. The torn flesh throbbed with every heartbeat, each movement sending waves of agony to his brain.

"Shit...shit," he panted between breaths, his throat dry and raspy. His gaze fell on his arm with evident concern.

Christian knew he would die if he didn't stop the bleeding. His basic first aid knowledge was enough to understand the severity of the situation. The amount of blood he had lost was not something his body could endure for much longer.

Using the last of his strength, he began to remove his belt. The process was clumsy and slow, aggravated by the fact that he had only one functional hand. His right hand tugged roughly at the buckle, while his injured arm trembled uncontrollably. The constant, sharp, and stabbing pain clouded his focus, but he couldn't afford the luxury of stopping.

The buckle finally gave way, and the belt slid out of the loops of his pants, helped in part by the moisture from his sweat and blood. With the strap in hand, he wrapped it around the base of his arm. Using the buckle as an anchor point, he pulled with all his strength to tighten the tourniquet. The leather creaked under the pressure, and the flesh of his arm compressed, causing unbearable pain that made his entire body arch.

"AAARRGH! Damn it!" he screamed, his face contorted in agony.

The seconds that followed seemed eternal, but finally, the bleeding began to subside. The blood no longer gushed out with the same intensity; it now dripped intermittently. Christian breathed heavily, his face drenched in sweat and tears that mixed with the dirt on his cheeks.

The adrenaline that had kept him on his feet finally ran out. The sensation of artificial vigor faded, and with it, all the strength he had left. Every muscle in his body burned with an intense, searing pain, as if even the act of existing cost him energy. He could no longer move, nor did he want to.

With heavy eyes, his gaze fixed on the night sky—a vast black canvas dotted with tiny white stars, cold and distant, but somehow comforting. There was something in that vastness, something that, without knowing why, gave him a slight sense of solace. A good thing, given that there was nothing to distract him from the growls of the zombies and the whistling air.

"What the hell am I going to do?" he asked the air. His voice sounded simple and empty, devoid of strength, as if every word weighed a ton on his tongue.

"Rest for now," his conscience replied with a calmness that seemed almost mocking. "Then we'll figure out how to treat that arm… if it's even possible."

Christian let out a dry, bitter laugh. It wasn't a laugh of amusement but a mix of irony and resignation. He lowered his gaze to his left arm—or what was left of it. The skin was beginning to pale around the wound. The blood flow was almost controlled, but the damage was already done.

"The damn thing's nearly split in half," he murmured coldly, his eyes narrowed, devoid of emotion beyond pain.

He observed intently the torn flesh, the exposed muscles, and the partially visible bone. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such a wound, but it had never been his own flesh that was broken.

"And that's not to mention that, depending on the type of zombie that bit me, I'm already infected," he continued in the same cold voice. His tone was neither fearful nor panicked, but one of crude and brutal acceptance. "Which means that no matter what I do, I'll die and come back as one of those bastards."

"What a thing," his conscience responded with a mix of sincerity, indifference, and boredom. "Too bad now you'll never get to be with a black girl... tough luck."

"Don't remind me," he replied with all the sadness in his heart. He really wanted to be with a black girl.

However, beyond that tremendously important fact and the probability that he would die only to later turn into a mindless, soulless zombie wandering around in search of human flesh for who knows how long, what truly shattered him was the idea of what that would mean for the people he loved.

His mother. His sisters. His grandmother. His cousins. His dog. All of them paraded through his mind, one after another, as if his memories were being projected onto the screen of the night sky. The laughter, the silly fights, the unexpected hugs. His heart clenched with pain.

"What are they doing now?" he wondered, unable to control the tide of emotions overwhelming him.

Multiple ideas and answers arose in Christian's mind to the question. Some of those ideas were comforting, imagining them defending themselves well against the apocalypse, barricaded and safe in their home, with a good supply of food and people to survive as long as possible. Most of the ideas, however, pictured them not making it—having been bitten and turned into zombies, or simply devoured. In moments like these, Christian hated his natural pessimism, which had always saved him from bad situations.

"God, if you're going to give me thoughts and ideas about my family turning into zombies or being torn apart and devoured, at least give me something to fight against that."

A simple request—more of a complaint and delirium from a dying man. One that he didn't believe for a second would actually be answered. Yet it was, in a very strange way overall.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Maybe the lack of oxygen in his brain was playing tricks on him. But what was before his eyes didn't fade, even when he blinked or rubbed his eyes.

It was text.

A text floating in the air, clear as water, bright as a neon screen.

​

By the grace of Chaos and Randomness, you are congratulated for surviving such a dangerous situation, as a reward for your efforts, a gift has been given to you.

By the grace of Chaos and Randomness, you have been blessed with the tools, knowledge and skills to create fantastic and unimaginable things, even if they technically violate the laws of the universe in which you are.

​These words appeared in Christian's vision, a look of pure disbelief forming on his face at the sight.

"What the hell?"

The confusion remained firmly in Christian's mind, unable to pinpoint exactly what was happening. His physical and mental state only reinforced this sense of unreality, something completely understandable given the circumstances.

He stayed in that state for quite a while before the words registered in his head and a cascade of memories presented themselves in his mind—a cascade of memories of a certain type of fanfic that he found quite entertaining. Unfortunately, these were fanfics that almost never got completed or finished.

Celestial Forge.

A type of fanfic where the protagonist received a "celestial forge," an absurd and incredible power system that allowed them to learn technologies, magic, or a combination of both from various fictional universes.

A silly and strange smile formed on his face at the recognition of that fact. It wasn't a smile of happiness but a mix of astonishment, disbelief, and a hint of poorly concealed excitement, which was good for momentarily ignoring the pain in his body. The smile disappeared abruptly, however, when his pessimism reminded him that obtaining this only meant his life was about to get far more complicated.

Whether it was due to the future appearance of world-ending threats like the zombies and their potential evolutions/mutations—if it was that kind of virus—aliens, demons, and angels, universal chaotic events, or, if things were truly dire, another person or persons with the same power as him who, for whatever reason, had decided to make the destruction of humanity their goal.

"That's actually a good theory for why there are zombies," his conscience commented in a thoughtful tone. "Given the blatant violation of the laws of physics and biology that those things are, I find it plausible."

"Ah, crap…" he blurted out suddenly, his eyes widening. "Of course, you had to give me those ideas now, you bastard, while I'm bleeding out and in pain!"

"Hey, you say 'thank you,' your ungrateful bastard" His conscience replied in annoyance. "Now stop being a lazy weakling and find something in that thing to help you survive and get yourself a black girl."

Reluctantly accepting and momentarily setting aside his growing paranoia, as well as the fact that he was screwed no matter what, he obeyed the order. Both for survival and because of his desire to be with a black girl.

"Ugh… How do you access the store in this thing?" He thought tiredly and painfully "Uh… 'Store'?"

Instantly, a large variety of text appeared before him, seemingly organized in a sort of PDF format, apparently divided into a wide variety of categories. From the most mundane to those of a more mystical nature. With each paragraph he skimmed through, curiosity spread through him like syphilis. However, given his physical and mental state, he had to quickly skim through the text to find solutions to his current problems.

Solutions he finally found in the text—simple in themselves and their words, but essential to keeping him alive in the short term and perhaps, who knows, getting himself a black girl.

Spoiler: Purchases Made.

Christian observed with seriousness and scrutiny the long, redundant, and almost life-wasting shopping list in front of him. His eyes scanned the chosen options, with the idea of determining what to change before finally nodding in confirmation of his hasty selections.

Since he didn't know if he was racing against time before dying from the infection and turning into a zombie (if the virus transmitted and worked that way), he really wanted to do this as quickly as possible.

"Buy."

As soon as that word crossed his mind, the world became pain—pain beyond anything in this world.

"AAAAAGH!" A bloodcurdling scream escaped his throat before he could stop it.

An inhuman headache exploded within his skull; unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if his mind was being crushed from all directions and dimensions, an unbearable pressure growing more intense and agonizing by the second. His brain and mind burned; every thought was a spark igniting a bonfire, every heartbeat an explosion inside his head.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" He gasped through gritted teeth, his face contorted in anguish.

His eyes clenched shut from the pain, nearly sewn together, and he brought his remaining hand to his head, clutching his skull so tightly his nails dug into his skin. He felt like his head might explode at any moment, and part of him truly believed it might.

Blood began to flow again from his nose and mouth, the red droplets slowly revitalizing the half-dried rivers of blood on his face. His ears also bled, creating new rivers of blood along the sides of his head. This was accompanied by a faint deafness, preventing him from hearing anything other than his own heart pounding with ferocity.

The pain lasted a mere ten seconds—the most eternal ten seconds of his life. Yet, as crazy as it sounded, he was willing to endure it again if what he was gaining from it was real.

Suddenly, strange and incredibly bizarre information flooded Christian's mind. It was a torrent of data detailing not only the way to create the technologies he had chosen but also the functioning of the technology integrated into his flesh. It was pure, raw, and immediate knowledge, as if it had always been there but had only now been unlocked.

The sensation was so strange that he almost ignored the fact that the pain, hunger, fear, panic, paranoia, and other unpleasant emotions had become nearly nonexistent. Of course, his body was still suffering the consequences, but at least this state afforded him the tranquility he desperately needed—besides, of course, relieving him of hellish pain. For this, he was thankful he had purchased the Cranial Implants.

As he slowly opened his eyes, the presence of multiple shadows—one gigantic and twelve smaller ones—made him happy, specifically because he was relieved this Celestial Forge thing was actually real and not the product of blood loss, psychosis, or possible virus infection. The lack of unpleasant sensations and emotions didn't count, given that it could very well have been his mind pushed to its limits and entering rest mode.

The Servoskulls and the Canoptek Spyder floated around him. A series of small, strange sounds emanated from them—soft, metallic, and alive. Those are good descriptions of these sounds, oddly comforting in a way he never thought they would be. Their gazes were fixed on him.

If there was one word to describe their appearance, that word would be "magnificent." Whether it was the simplicity, spirituality, and brutality of multiple floating skulls adorned with a series of scrolls called "Purity Seals," each equipped with tools depending on its type—whether for general tasks like serving as a medic or radar—or the mechanical, cold, and alien nature of an obsidian-black mechanical spider that seemed to absorb light. The spider had several green points on various parts of its body, the most prominent being the one behind its head, which appeared to be its main reactor.

"Beautiful…" he whispered with a mix of admiration and joy, his face reflecting absolute happiness and pain.

The Servoskulls and Spyder slightly inclined toward him, expectantly awaiting his recognition and orders.

"They act like dogs" His consciousness commented with a hint of curiosity and sarcasm. Christian didn't respond—he had better things to do.

Thanks to the new knowledge in his head, Christian knew they were programmed to follow his orders to the letter.

These orders could be transmitted in two ways: physical means—through his voice, regardless of the language spoken—or mental means, by creating a mental network that connected them directly to his mind. This connection would be made wirelessly, either through cybernetics in his head or directly to his brain. Both options were generally good, though not without flaws.

Both methods had their advantages and disadvantages. Vocal commands were simple to use, but the inherent imprecision of spoken language could lead to misunderstandings or interpretation errors, especially in stressful or dangerous situations. On the other hand, the mental network provided a direct, precise, and silent connection, ideal for remaining unnoticed. However, the associated risk was much higher. A direct brain connection, whether natural or cybernetic, carried the possibility of external "hacking" or, in the worst case, neural overload, which could completely fry his brain.

Finally, after a very brief deliberation, he chose the second method, mainly because he already had the cybernetics for it, the benefit/advantage of issuing orders without making a sound, and the long-term potential for higher-caliber operations, such as building a base or creating an army of robots.

With that in mind, Christian sent a command to his implants to connect to the Servoskulls and the Spyder's signals.

[Connect]

The process was almost imperceptible. He felt no pain or discomfort, just a strange sensation of "fusion" at the back of his head, where the cybernetic implants integrated into the mental network. In an instant, the Servoskulls and the Spyder became more than just advanced, floating machines. They became extensions of his own will.

There were no sparks, no flashes of energy, no exaggerated activation sounds—just silence. The kind of silence that settles when a predator hides and observes its prey. A silence under control.

Not even a second passed before voices resounded in Christian's head—the voices of the beings he had purchased and brought into this world.

[Status: subroutines on standby. Input command.] A chimera of cold, metallic, and extremely alive voices spoke to him. From their tone and words, he deduced it was the Skulls, which had apparently decided to speak as one.

[Primary Supervisor detected. Priority established. Orders required.] Another voice sounded in his head, this one even more metallic, alien, and oddly polite. The Spyder, for obvious reasons.

Having established that the newly created network apparently worked and that his abilities to detect problems did not trigger any alarms, Christian deemed it was time to act.

[Orders: Medicae Servoskulls, you are ordered to analyze my body, present the data, amputate my left arm, and heal the body as much as possible. Sensor and Monotask Servoskulls, you are ordered to monitor and defend the current area, except for one of the Sensors, which will remain with me. Canoptek Spyder, you are ordered to commence production of one hundred Scarabs and defend yourself in case of attack. Designated location: the entire roof of the building.]

The orders were transmitted, and with the precision and efficiency only machines could offer, the mechanical servants began to move to fulfill them. The Servoskulls divided into groups. The Medicae and one of the Sensors began descending toward him, while the remaining two split into pairs, distributed across the building, and started patrolling. The Canoptek Spyder, for its part, moved fluidly and effortlessly, like a stalking shadow, positioning itself in the safest area of the zone, away from Christian's sight, while beginning the production of Scarabs.

Once the Medicae Skulls were within reach, Christian observed with extreme curiosity how they each took a position over his body: head, torso, and legs. Red lights emanated from the skulls' optics, bathing his body in light. Christian felt nothing during the process—whether due to his implants or because the procedure was painless.

[Preliminary analysis complete. Multiple lacerations. Significant blood loss. Medium failure of major and minor organs. Strange infection detected in the organism; inactive strain in the brain, active strain in the left arm and its connection to the torso. General condition: critical but stable. Recommendation: amputate the limb infected with the active strain.] Reported the Medicae Servoskull positioned over his torso with the same cold, metallic, and strangely lifelike voice.

"Infection... of course there's an infection," he thought with some disdain. It wasn't necessary to be told, but the confirmation from a machine always added a layer of objective certainty that was hard to ignore.

[Amputation protocol initiated. Confirmation required.] The skull on his torso spoke.

[Authorized. Proceed immediately,] He responded without hesitation.

The Servoskulls moved from their positions and directed themselves toward Christian's left arm. Two positioned themselves on either side of his arm, while another projected a blue light outlining the cutting area, located at the junction of the arm and torso. Mechanical arms emerged from their sides, equipped with clamps, precision surgical saws, cauterization devices, and a low-quality medical pack in the form of syringes.

The sound of the saw vibrated in his ears, and Christian watched as it began to descend toward his flesh with an inhuman calm. A sharp, high-pitched metallic screech filled the air as the blade cut through skin, muscle, and bone with surgical efficiency. There were no screams or struggles. The implants in his body released a surge of nerve inhibitors, blocking any possibility of pain. Even so, he felt the pressure and movement. He felt the absence.

When the arm was severed, the Servoskulls worked quickly. The syringes pierced his flesh, injecting a cocktail of drugs, adrenaline, coagulants, and other substances into his system. Additionally, the cauterizers sealed the wound instantly, burning the open flesh with a hiss that filled the room with the smell of charred meat. While the coagulants could have sealed it, they would have taken too much time—time Christian didn't want to waste.

[Amputation complete. Subject's condition: acceptable. Recommendation: graft a cybernetic arm to restore functionality and replenish fluids,] the Medicae Servoskull reported before retreating with the other Medicae units, withdrawing the needles from his flesh.

[Understood. Orders: lift me from the ground.] A command issued by him, and the Skulls quickly moved to his shoulders, using their limbs as supports, beginning to lift Christian from the floor.

The process was slow and methodical—a necessary precaution given Christian's physical condition. His exhausted and worn body couldn't have withstood a more abrupt effort. Once he was fully upright, the Spyder's voice resonated in his head, delivering news that delighted Christian.

[Production of Scarabs complete. Releasing them to the exterior.]

Christian's head instinctively turned toward the Spyder, observing how the machine rose slightly into the air to achieve a favorable position between him and the roof.

A series of compartments opened at the bottom of the Spyder, revealing its internal mechanism—a system far beyond anything modern humanity could create. However, what truly captured Christian's attention was what emerged from its interior.

From the compartments poured an avalanche of Scarabs—mechanical creatures shaped like beetles, each approximately the size of a human adult's head. Their bodies were composed of plates made of Living Metal, a dark, smooth, and lustrous material capable of self-repair, typical of Necron technology. The front part of each Scarab was equipped with an "eye" or "sensor" emitting a bright green energy glow, pulsing intermittently with their movements. They had multiple legs, appearing thin but strong, which made sense given their abilities in flaying, climbing surfaces, recycling, and other functions.

The Scarabs poured out of the Spyder in a torrent, a tide of metallic insects dispersing with precision and purpose. The wave of Scarabs slid across the floor, climbed the walls, and spread into every corner of the structure. They didn't stop there. The swarms extended toward the roofs of neighboring buildings, covering every available surface.

[Scarabs released. Creating connection with the network... Connection established, transmitting general data. Awaiting orders.]

New connections and data appeared in Christian's mind, all related to the Scarabs—simple things, mostly. Their general status, location, capabilities, energy levels, resources, and so forth. After reviewing all this information, he quickly sent a message to the Sensor and Monotask Skulls to see if they had detected anything.

[Report: Multiple cadaveric beings of human origin infected by the same unknown pathogen present in the Magus' body detected nearby. Recommendation: Total extermination of the beings.]

Christian sighed and rolled his eyes at the suggestion. It was no surprise that the Skulls recommended extermination as the primary solution, especially considering their creators, programming, and pragmatism. Simple but effective... perhaps.

[Understood. Orders: Monotask, withdraw from surveillance, and follow me. Also, retrieve my amputated limb.] Christian gave the order, and the Monotask Servoskulls responded immediately, moving in his direction with the mechanical hum of their anti-gravity motor. One of them stopped and descended to pick up the amputated limb with its metallic pincers. His attention then turned to the Spyder and the Scarabs. [Spyder, secure the area, and engage in combat only if strictly necessary. Scarabs are divided into three groups: the first with 20 units, the other two with 40. The first group stays with me; the rest, fully consume all-steel cars, trash, debris, and infected beings in the area, up to a maximum of 40 square meters.]

The Scarabs responded instantly. The units separated into formations, with the smallest group staying close to Christian while the others descended and spread throughout the surrounding area. Soon, the characteristic sound of the Scarabs filled the air: a constant screeching of metal and concrete being torn apart, combined with the chilling noise of growls, flesh being dismembered, and bones breaking. Christian didn't need to look over the edge of the building to know what was happening below; the data transmitted by the Scarabs confirmed their work without any margin for error.

"Now, to craft a new arm," he murmured softly to himself. His gaze remained fixed on the void in front of him as he spoke the phrase to access his Augmentation Suite. "Door to the Augmentation Suite."

In response to those words, the air seemed to tear apart in front of him, and a portal began to materialize. More than just a simple opening, it was a rupture in the fabric of space-time, forming a white circle the size of a man, devoid of light or sound. If he had to compare it to something, it would be to the portals from the game Portal, though only superficially.

Without hesitation, Christian stepped toward the portal, accompanied by the Servoskulls and Scarabs. However, just as he was about to cross the opening, he stopped abruptly.

For a moment, he remained still, his gaze fixed on the portal. The reason he stopped was that he had just remembered he'd forgotten to give some last, very important orders to the Scarabs—specifically, those collecting materials. A slight expression of irritation crossed his face as he mentally formulated the pending instructions.

"I always forget something..." he thought with some annoyance. He was seriously considering starting to write everything down to avoid these situations. A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Oh well, it doesn't matter."

[Skulls, Spyder, and Scarabs, you are ordered to avoid contact with humans at all costs. In case of contact, retreat as far away from them as possible. If attacked, use of force is authorized, but only to incapacitate; do not kill any humans.]

After issuing the necessary orders, Christian and his group crossed the portal without hesitation. On the other side, he was greeted by a sight that brought a childlike, almost innocent smile to his face—though with each passing second, the expression grew more unsettling.

The laboratory before him was a dream come true for any technomancer or cybernetics enthusiast. Dimly lit by neon lights in hues of blue, purple, and green, it contrasted with deep shadows and metallic reflections. The walls were covered with dark panels embedded with screens, some flickering with data graphs and biometric readings.

At the center stood a multifunctional surgical chair surrounded by robotic arms suspended from the ceiling. Each arm was equipped with advanced tools: precision lasers, automatic syringes, cauterizers, and mechanical clamps. The chair was connected to a central console with holographic screens displaying real-time diagnostics.

The laboratory is filled with workbenches, each one covered with a wide variety of tools and materials intended for the creation and repair of cybernetic prosthetics. Among the tools, there are advanced computers with multiple monitors, high-precision 3D printers, laser micro-welders, centrifuges, DNA analyzers, precision screwdrivers, standard and electric tweezers, magnifying glasses with integrated lighting, and other specialized devices for manipulating the tiny electronic and mechanical components that make up cyber implants.

Additionally, the tables house a diversity of construction materials, carefully organized in containers or scattered across the work area. Among these materials are high-strength metals like titanium and diamond coatings, as well as integrated circuits and advanced microprocessors. Alongside these inorganic materials, there are also organic elements stored in precisely labeled jars: blood, a cocktail of nutrients and vitamins, preservative liquids for biological tissues, and other chemical solutions used in cybernetic and biotechnological integration.

Christian could say without a doubt that this was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, something straight out of his wildest cybernetics-related dreams, giving off a strong Cyberpunk 2077 vibe. Considering that the laboratory seemed to have been created based on his personal ideas/preferences, its appearance made perfect sense.

Christian's manic smile became smaller as he moved through the laboratory, his cranial implants taking no time at all to connect to the site's network. The place now belonged to him and obeyed his commands. Once he was seated in front of one of the laboratory's computers, he let out a soft laugh upon seeing the 3D modeling program displayed on the screen.

"Well, it's time to get started."

So, I've decided to rewrite the first chapters of the fic. There's no clear reason why I did it, but I think it's to give a better idea of the things that will happen in the future, particularly regarding the body Christian inhabits, its past, who the body belongs to, his family, and other related matters.

As for the first chapter, I thought the previous version was too short and somewhat simple, so I added more details and changed how Christian loses his arm and why he replaces it. Basically, it's now relatively more believable how he lost the limb… I think.

In any case, any criticism or suggestions are always welcome. I appreciate you reading this and hope you enjoy it. Thank you for your attention.

Injecting nanomachines into the spinal cord in order to avoid infection from a virus/plague/parasite or zombie whatever was not something the person known as Christian thought he would be doing on a Saturday (although he really wasn't sure of the day given the time). time of waking up and knowing where the hell he is) in the night.

Six hours had passed since he had woken up in that dark alley, an alley where a kind of humanoid monster had torn off and eaten the fingers of his left hand, for which he once realized the type of situation he was in, escape through some stairs on one of the sides of the buildings that surrounded him.

Christian could easily say that he probably would have died on the roof of that building under other circumstances. Both for the fact that he was bleeding out and for the simple fact that he was a scrawny boy without an arm, surrounded by who the hell they know are those things that he wanted to eat him.

Luckily (or unfortunately for others, because that's always the case) such an event had not come true, at least for the moment.

Thanks to the appearance of a skill learning purchasing system that revolves mostly around technology, whether normal, mystical, or a combination of both, he was able to survive the event, at least temporarily.

You see when Christian had entered his Augmentation Room, a kind of dimensional laboratory equipped with all the materials and equipment necessary for the creation and implantation of mechanical implants, such as an arm, leg and even organs. He was in perfect health, well that's not counting the stumps on his left hand, but whatever.

The thing is that as the hours passed (specifically two), his body had begun to get sick, from flu, headache and finally a strong fever that made him feel as if he were in an oven. It was practically as if his own body began to self-destruct.

At first, he had been confused as to why the sudden change occurred, but quickly the memory of the attack by the zombified humanoid had come to him and he finally knew what it was about.

Infected.

That's the answer he came to after thinking about the possible reasons for his discomfort, which is quite logical given that a few hours ago his body had been attacked by some strange shit and well, that, there really wasn't much to think about. to find out how he had reached that conclusion.

In any case and faced with the threat presented to him, Christian decided to stop working on a replacement for his lost fingers and start working on a cure for his ailment (if there was one).

Through a combination of Antibody Creation, Necron Technology, Environmental Protection and Miniaturization/Efficiency added to his Cranial Implants and Loading Human.exe in order to evade the severe pain in his body he was able to create a series of self-replicating nanomachines whose function is to strengthen your body when eliminating invading agents.

Now one would wonder why not simply use Antibody Creation for healing, the answer is simple. He had no idea what type of infection it was, in addition to the fact that he does not have an infected sample with which to carry out an experiment to search for a cure, so based on that and although it took longer, he decided on nanomachines.

These nanomachines function by destroying any agent external to the body at a molecular level and then once their task is finished, they enter a rest mode waiting for any future threat to be faced. For their operation, replication and maintenance they use both matter and matter as fuel. energy of the agents to be destroyed as Christian's own matter/energy.

Although such a thing might sound like something wonderful and super useful, it is not exempt from the probability of failure, such as for example that they would get out of control and begin to devour their entire body, and then once they would have nothing to eat from it, begin to eat the environment around him in a gigantic devouring storm that would end the world, in a very literal way.

Well as the saying goes: If you are afraid of dying then don't be born or something like that.

Taking out the syringe connected to the tube were said nanomachines are stored from his neck, the sensation of ants jumping around his neck was somewhat curious, but nothing he was not used to.

"Well…I hope this…is enough"

Gently leaning back on the operating chair in his laboratory, Christian felt a strange sense of calm, as if he were in some kind of lucid dream, almost like being drunk, but not really drunk, one would say it's like using marijuana, but generally It was even stranger.

Unfortunately, this sensation ended with the beginning of a series of spasms and nausea that arose from his body. Curiously, and thanks to his Cranial Implants and his Loading Human.exe, he was not feeling the pain of such things, beyond discomfort.

He tilted his head towards the floor and vomited, a black substance coming out of his mouth. He wiped the rest of his mouth with his right arm.

"I hope this ends quickly."

------------

Unfortunately for Christian that was not the case.

Two hours.

That was the total duration of his spasms and urge to vomit. Two full hours of him, completely lying in his operating chair, while his body screams in pain and discomfort.

Letting out a tired sigh, he stood up from the chair with the intention of continuing the construction of his replacement fingers.

As soon as he stood up, he almost fell to the floor due to the exhaustion of his body.

He truly could not feel pain, fatigue, fear and other emotions/sensations that clouded his goals, but that did not mean that they did not exist and that his body was not feeling the consequences of it.

"Damn body of flesh"

Recovering from his depressed state, Christian advanced towards his laboratory area where, lying on one of the tables, a 3D plan of the creation of his prosthetic fingers was displayed on a computer.

Christian's laboratory is 50 meters wide on each side and 3 meters high. Given Christian's size and relative solitude, such size was more than enough for his current projects.

The entire laboratory is equipped with the highest technologies, intended for the creation, maintenance and implantation of cybernetic implants in the human body. Of course this was not the only thing available in the laboratory, but it is the main thing given its function.

Sitting in the chair in front of said table, Christian watched as the servoskull and canopteck scarab (which had been produced by the sypder, after having decomposed several of the humanoid beings as material for its construction) were in a kind of mode. of rest while awaiting new orders.

Looking carefully at the map in front of him, new ideas began to form in Christian's head, while he looked thoughtfully at his damaged member.

"It doesn't make much difference between this and that."

With those words spoken, he began to alter the design of said prostheses or more specifically unite and expand them into something completely different from what was originally proposed.

---------

Removing his blue shirt from his body (which he is sure was not his outfit from the day he got drunk, plus the much smaller size), and then sitting on the operating chair, Christian watched as the servoskulls floated around him in the air. waiting to begin the operation.

The look of seriousness and contemplation on Christian's face marked the train of thought as to whether the following actions were the correct option to follow.

¨ Are there other options? ¨

"Yes, but you know, this is easier."

"Good point…I think."

With his thoughts clear about what will happen next, he temporarily closes his eyes as he lets out a sigh of acceptance and his eyes open this time with more confidence and strength than a while ago.

"Okay, it's time to start" He licked his lips dryly, he needs to eat and drink something "Servoskull start the implantation procedure"

They moved at the given order and quickly began the implantation procedure.

With a bit morbid and bizarre curiosity, Christian watched as the Monotask-skull type servokulls, using the tools installed in his cybernetic arms, cut off his entire left arm from the area where the arm connects to the torso, blood came out of the freshly cut tip.

The arm was quickly picked up by another of the servoskull and placed on one of the tables. It is pale white in color, he thought it was due to the weakness of his body, he also found it curious how even with his lack of glasses he could see completely normally.

Quickly in the area, the protesteis intended to serve as a replacement was placed, Christian did not feel any weight added to his mass, this is due to the density modifying properties of it. It is a midnight black arm made entirely of Living Metal. It has all the capabilities of a normal arm, plus of course being damn tough compared to the original and having a variety of hacking defenses and EMP protection.

No modifications or additions had been made to it, this due to its immediate purpose of functioning as an immediate replacement for Christian's left arm and that in case of failure it could be repaired more easily.

The sensation of a sting filled Christian's senses, the reason for them being due to the nanomachines in the prosthetic arm, which quickly connected to his body. Curiously, and given this capacity, they can come off in case of damage or future modifications.

Grateful for having the ability to feel no pain, which is helpful given the fact that the operation had been performed without any anesthesia. Christian began to move his prosthetic arm in search of evaluating its functioning, it apparently worked as he expected, it basically works like a normal arm and hand.

"Well now it's time to try it"

-------

Standing on the roof of the night of his awakening and after putting his shirt back on, Christian calmly watched as the sun of the new day rose over the horizon.

Thanks to said sunlight, Christian was finally able to see where he was. It apparently is a city, given the large number of buildings in the surrounding area, each of different and varied sizes, Christian thought it was the center of the city.

In the distance he could see how the city had even more things, but due to the lack of more light and its own natural limit, he could not identify the buildings.

"I survived my first day." He looked at his robotic arm. "Sorry, but at least I'm still alive. What do you think, friend?"

The canoptek spyder and the scarab floating on his shoulders did not respond to it, only remaining completely silent. Nothing new given that he himself is a robot without consciousness (at least he thinks that).

Walking to the edge of the roof overlooking the alley where he had woken up, she carefully peeked out to observe his state after the previous night.

He himself has a total of 20 of those zombified shits, which do nothing beyond moving like well...zombies, from one side to the other.

Given his calm and collected state, Christian theorized that they had not detected his presence, which was a good thing given the tremendous stupidity he is about to do.

"Okay, experiment 2, functionality check of the new arm."

The very professional and serious tone of his tone, despite what it sounds like, was driven entirely by his more childish tastes in experimentation and his own idiocy.

"This is stupid…ahhh" He moved away from the edge and then placed himself in a fighting position, while releasing a sigh of acceptance "Scarabs, I order you to bring one of the beings from down there to here and hold it until further orders"

They obeyed and quickly got off Christian's shoulders and quickly disappeared at the edge, only to reappear almost a minute later with one of those zombies, held by the scarabs' legs.

They themselves are grunting and writhing from one side to the other, their appearance, which recently was completely diffuse given the state of darkness of the night along the route, is something that surprised Christian.

He is a man with black hair, opaque eyes and extremely pale skin. His clothing consists of a plaid shirt, beige pants, and brown shoes. She herself appears to be destroyed, whether due to the multiple bites on the body or the simple fact of being covered in blood. Christian imagined that he would smell bad, but due to his own problems with being able to smell bad things, he did not feel anything from his body. Which was both good and bad.

"Well at least this confirms that they were humans" he whispered with his gaze fixed on the zombie "Sacarbs let him go"

At his command, the Sacrabs released the zombie, causing it to fall suddenly against the roof of the building. The sound of something breaking made Christian make an unconscious gesture of pain. Empathy is curious even when one feels it as a rotting cannibal.

He himself began to get up from the ground, and then once standing he began to walk at a slow and broken pace towards Christian, who only prepared himself by getting into position with his left hand raised in order to test the zombie's resistance.

This test began immediately, when said being lunged at Christian with its jaws completely open in a sign of biting, the only response to this was to grab him by the neck.

"You know, if my emotions weren't turned off, I would be completely terrified of having you in front of me" The zombie did not respond, he just continued growling "First field test with the infected, survival test without a head"

The head was torn off from the zombie body with a simple gesture, Christian was completely sure that previously, even using both arms, such a thing would be impossible for him. New ideas arose in his mind as a result.

Holding the head with his left hand, Christian watched as the zombie's body collapsed as if it were a puppet whose strings had been cut. It reminded him a little of the strange scene from that horror movie whose name he no longer remembers.

Curiously, despite this, the zombie's head was still completely functional, and of course it continued trying to bite it, despite its senselessness.

"You're a tough son of a bitch, you know that" The head was crushed by his hand with all the strength available in it "First field test with the infected, survival test without a head, result death due to lack of head"

A look of disgust formed on Christian's face, as he observed the remains of infected material that now covered his entire left hand.

"Great, now I have to clean this shit up."

------

Sitting in a chair in his lab, Christian watched in wonder as the new solution he had created, named Kennedy, after Leon S Kennedy, his favorite zombie game character, was decomposing/destroying every bit of the infected biological material he had obtained. of the zombie's body.

A triumphant smile appeared on his face at the result of the solution which had been created thanks to his antibody creation skills.

"Now let's try this on a human being," he said while grabbing a bit of the content with a pipette. "Oh, me."

A little of its contents were released into Christian's right arm, which, seeing that nothing else had happened within ten minutes after contact, took it as a sign that it was safe for any form of life. not infected. Of course, I also tried it on his cybernetic arm, which did not react in any way to it.

After that, he proceeded to create a new solution whose purpose was to clean your clothes of any dirt, bacteria or viruses.

Once that was done, he undressed and submerged all his clothes (which he is sure are not the same ones he got drunk in) in a container (created by the scarab) full of newly created solution, said clothes consisting of a blue shirt, black pants and white tennis shoes, also and by using both liquids, I clean the place where I vomit. They differed in that Kennedy is yellow and cleaning is blue.

"Okay, let's get on with the good stuff."

---------

Lying down in the operating chair again, although this time naked, Christian watched as a small crowd of scarabs and servoskulls gathered around him, who were about to operate on him.

Well, actually the ones who would do the operation are the servoskull, the scarabs are only there to hold the implants that would soon be implanted in Christian.

These implants consist of both external replacements in the form of the right arm, legs and eyes and internal replacements, such as the heart and lungs. Another thing to mention is that replacements for your most important bones such as the spine, ribs and pelvis are also included.

It should also be mentioned that he planned to install a power generator and a miniature matter/energy converter that, in combination with several nanomachines with the ability to harden in response to physical damage, would use sunlight absorbed from his skin as a source of energy. and thus, make it so that he did not need to eat to live.

To clarify all of these implants are made of Living Metal, protected from both hacking (he, he hopes so) and EMP.

One might wonder why he made such a decision, putting all his trust in experimental technology, whose risks of going wrong were so high that he might as well play Russian roulette, but with just one try.

The reason for this is due to a simple and banal reason.

Christian is weak.

It is the only reason why such a decision was made. The decision to replace much of his humanity with cybernetic implants.

Since he was young, Christian's body had only given him problems, not the kind of problems that would keep him permanently bedridden and hospitalized, but the kind that consumed much of his time and effort.

Whether it was the fact of constantly taking insomnia pills, his terminal kidney failure, his poor eyesight that forced him to always wear glasses, his weak back that made him slouch and shrink with each passing day.

Perhaps for many that is mild and they would say that he is complaining too much compared to others in more difficult situations. Christian could say bluntly that they were not wrong in that assessment.

Throughout his life he never had to fight for these problems beyond those generated by himself, he grew up surrounded by a loving family, which provided him with everything necessary to give him a comfortable and happy life. In addition to all this, as if that were not enough, he never lacked friends or colleagues who would always be willing to give him a hand.

So, the fact that he made the decision to use said technology to fix his broken body and improve it beyond the potential of his genome was not surprising, just a logical conclusion for someone of his type, a lazy person who makes hasty decisions that probably kill him, a waste given what was invested in him. This at least is Christian's opinion of the person he is.

Staring at the implants that would soon be connected to him, both external and internal. A thoughtful look graced his face before he simply let out a tired sigh and nodded in acceptance.

"Okay, Servoskull, install the right arm."

They moved and just like his left arm, it was quickly cut off and replaced with the old one. The installation was as expected, a stinging sensation was felt and said arm was finally able to act like a normal arm.

He made a few movements with his new hand, movements as common as sticking out his middle finger, doing an okay, and a classic high five.

"Okay, now the legs."

The process was almost similar to that of the arms, only in this case, the sensation made him feel like urinating, probably due to the connection of the nanomachines connecting to his body and causing certain stimuli in his body.

He slowly got up from the chair, and then began to perform a series of movements in sync with his other limbs, one of these activities curiously consists of dancing, the result is ridiculous and funny to say the least.

After that, he sat back down in the operating chair, with an increasing desire for future operations to be performed now.

"Well, that was the easy part, now the difficult part"

--------

Christian's eyes were torn out, his birth eyes that, although weak, always accompanied him on his always confusing path, he replaced them in the search for improvement.

His spine was separated from him, his always reliable support of his life, his protection from the system that allows control of his body. Changed for better protection, weight and speed.

Your ribs, guardians of your ribcage, protectors of the vital organs of your torso. Removed due to the placement of a better defense.

His organs and especially his heart was next, one of the first to emerge in the womb, torn from its place, but not without being humiliated by the placement of two devices in its vicinity, to allow Christian's survival during the operation, extirpated and their positions usurped.

All of these things and more, Christian did with his body, all in order to survive and thrive against anything this world had to offer.

Once the process was finished, he got up from the chair, the feeling that his altered body gave him is simply great, it was as if he had the power to destroy a tank with blows.

"Good," his voice sounded a little hoarse, probably due to the dryness of his body. "Now, let's see how it turns out."

--------

Standing in front of a mirror created by the Scarabs, Christian was able to observe the result of these modifications and their consequences on his appearance.

Strange is the word he used to describe his appearance, a combination of biology and machine.

His dark limbs made a great contrast with his white skin, the areas where these limbs were connected to his body, some types of black veins stood out, this is due to the connections made by the nanomachines.

In general, there would be nothing strange beyond these facts, just a young man with his cybernetic limbs appreciating the results of his new skills, nothing strange on that side, however and like every situation, this one had something curious.

What thing?

Well, the fact that Christian's face, well, it's not his face, at least not the one he was born with.

Where before there had been extremely short black hair, brown eyes full of dark circles, a simple face and tanned white skin, now there are brown eyes (these are cybernetic, he really doesn't know which ones are original), blonde hair, medium length by back, soft face and slightly pale white skin.

"Well at least that explains why his arm was pale and why he could see without glasses" his hands gently touched his face "No shit, I'm beautiful"

That was the only answer Christian came up with for all this and the truth is he wasn't wrong, compared to his previous face, his new face is quite pleasant to look at. The only thing he could be said to retain from his previous body is his physique and even then, he would say that the previous one is stronger.

Now one might wonder why his apparent calmness in the face of this revelation, contrary to what many would think, is that it is a product of his cranial implants and loading human.exe. The truth of the matter is that he just doesn't care.

For people of his type, life is simpler if you don't take most things seriously, even when they can kill you. An example of this was when he broke his arm and his only response to it was to get drunk while waiting for the ambulance. Which did not arrive and he had to be taken to the hospital, Latin America would not understand it.

In any case and free of any type of existential doubt for the moment, he limited himself to simply continuing to look at himself in the mirror in search of minor details that could be hidden in the body, after which after two minutes of finding nothing, he directed his He glances at the container where his clothes are stored, his right hand to his chin, to begin rubbing it in a thoughtful tone.

"Well, since my face isn't the same anymore, I think a change of outfit would be in order." An amused smile formed on her face, one that was quickly erased by the memory of the time she tried to make clothes. "I just hope not screw up the design"

----

Hello how are you?

I hope well, as those who read this will see, the chapter has been modified in order to improve its coherence.

Give me your opinion on the new version.

I thank anyone who is interested in this and encourage you to give support.

Thank you for reading.