Alex felt nothing.
No, that wasn't quite right. He felt something—but it was like being submerged beneath dark, stagnant water, consciousness rising and sinking without control. His thoughts were fuzzy and scattered, memories flashing briefly and then slipping away before he could hold onto them.
What...the fuck was that...?
He tried to remember clearly. The director's mocking eyes, the spectral hand tearing him away, his own lifeless body fading from view. Everything had happened too fast, too brutally for comprehension. Alex's mind reeled, flailing for a sense of coherence.
Did I die...? Am I...dead?
Then, suddenly, he realized something was wrong with his senses. He felt different. Alien sensations flooded him—a chill like metal beneath his skin, a tightness around his limbs, and a strange, pulsing ache behind his eyes. He could hear distant voices, muffled and clinical, drifting through his hazy awareness.
"Vitals nominal. Neurological integration nearly complete."
"Subject 808 responding differently than expected. Mental waveforms diverging from baseline parameters."
"Could it be another defective batch? Damn it, we calibrated perfectly this time!"
"Wait. Neural activity stabilizing. Prepare to initiate consciousness trigger."
A sharp, electrical jolt surged through Alex's body, snapping him violently awake. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. His throat burned raw, and his eyes shot open, assaulted by blinding white lights overhead. Alex felt restraints holding his wrists, ankles, and chest firmly in place. Panic flooded through him as he struggled instinctively, thrashing weakly against his bindings.
"Clone 808 is conscious," a voice declared flatly from somewhere nearby.
Clone…808?
Alex forced his eyes open again, blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision. His surroundings slowly came into focus—a sterile, clinical room filled with medical instruments and unfamiliar technology. Tubes and cables extended from his body, connected to machines displaying cryptic data streams. Doctors—no, scientists—stood nearby in crisp, white uniforms, carefully observing monitors, taking notes, and exchanging whispered remarks.
Alex's mind raced frantically. His heart hammered violently in his chest.
Where the hell am I?! Who are these people?
He desperately tried to speak again, his throat tightening painfully. Finally, he croaked out a hoarse, weak voice:
"Wh-where…"
Immediately, the attention in the room snapped toward him.
"Subject is vocalizing independently," a woman noted, sounding detached but intrigued.
Alex felt like an insect pinned beneath glass. The scrutiny was unbearable, their gazes cold, clinical, and utterly indifferent to his growing terror.
A tall, imposing scientist stepped forward, examining Alex carefully through narrow, analytical eyes. A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth, though his face remained largely expressionless.
"Fascinating," the scientist murmured. "Already forming independent thoughts. But how?"
Independent thoughts?
Alex tried again, pushing himself beyond his limits. "Who...are you people?"
The scientist tilted his head slightly, amusement briefly flickering in his eyes. "We are your creators, Clone 808. And your questions are irrelevant."
Creators...?
A wave of nausea surged through Alex. Clone. They called him a clone. His mind struggled, trying desperately to piece it all together.
Did that bastard send me into... One Piece? No way...
But there was no mistaking it. The strange clinical uniforms, the numbered identification—this was Germa 66 territory. He knew it instinctively, even if his rational mind resisted accepting the truth.
But clones weren't supposed to think independently. That was exactly why he stood out now—why he was so suddenly and dangerously interesting to these cold, observing eyes. He felt their stares piercing him, dissecting him mentally long before they would physically.
The scientist turned back toward the group, seemingly indifferent to Alex's rising panic. "Increase observation frequency. Record all anomalous activity."
As the scientists continued their discussions, Alex fought desperately against confusion and fear. He had to regain control—fast. Panic would do nothing here. He remembered enough from his previous life's obsession with One Piece lore—enough to know exactly how dangerous Germa 66 was, especially to "defective" clones.
He had to find a way out, even though he barely understood his own body yet. He could feel that he was way stronger than he ever had been before, but everything felt alien; his eyes that were working very well without glasses, his muscles way bigger than before. The only thing that remained as it was before was his mind, as sharp as ever.
But there was no doubt in his mind. He had been reincarnated, dragged from his mundane university life into this cruel, twisted reality.
A sudden metallic clang jolted him from his thoughts. The restraints holding him retracted sharply, releasing his wrists, ankles, and torso. The scientists stepped back, silently watching. Alex slowly pushed himself up, his muscles trembling with unfamiliar sensations.
His legs nearly collapsed beneath his own weight as he stood for the first time, swaying awkwardly. He glanced down at himself—tall, muscular, with skin unmarred by life. Artificially perfect, yet alien.
"808," the scientist ordered coldly, eyes assessing him with chilling detachment. "Step forward."
Alex hesitated, then obeyed cautiously, feeling their gaze dissecting every shaky movement.
"You will undergo evaluation. Obey orders. Defiance equals termination," the scientist continued without emotion, scribbling notes disinterestedly.
Alex swallowed hard, suddenly vividly aware of how disposable he was in their eyes. His heart beat furiously, yet he forced a nod, masking his terror beneath an impassive expression.
As the scientists turned away, preparing the room for another test, Alex noticed for the first time other clone pods lined neatly against the wall. Each contained a nearly identical body, submerged in fluid, lifeless yet waiting to awaken.
One pod nearby opened, revealing another freshly produced clone—his expression blank, obedient, lifeless. Alex began contemplating this human machine.
Thank god I didn't become like that !
The scientist barked orders impatiently.
"808, move! Immediately."