The vault door sealed behind me.
Hydraulic sigh echoing in the dim chamber.
Locked out the wasteland's rad-whispers.
And those steaming merc husks.
Emergency lights flickered on.
Jagged shadows dancing across the chamber.
Old Earth tech, rusted and scarred.
A millennium of neglect.
But still humming.
Those bio-chemical fuel cells purring like a hibernating beast.
Powerful.
Defiant.
I crept forward.
Boots crunching shattered vials.
Dust-caked cables.
Air tasted metallic.
Ozone tang of tech fighting decay.
Center stage: a console.
Damaged.
Screens cracked like spiderwebs.
But lights blinking green.
Operational.
My tongue muttered a curse.
This was no scrap heap.
Fingers dancing over holo-keys.
Naive hustle honed dodging Vortex overseers.
System whirred.
Defenses crumbling under quick hacks.
Stolen algorithms doing the heavy lift.
Holo-projector sputtered.
Ghostly figure materialized.
Gaunt.
Spectral.
Eyes burning with analytical fire.
Even in death.
His voice echoed.
Precise.
Chilling.
Scalpel slicing silence.
"If you're seeing this, you must be my unlikely inheritor—due to the fact most wouldn't crack my security system, a testament to your sharp intellect.
I give you props for that feat.
I am Dr. Kael Veynar, the Bio-Smith.
Cold genius, ex-corporate geneticist gone rogue—my research banned, leading to financial ruin and death.
My exploits? I shattered corporate chains, bent biology to my will with precision that rivals the stars themselves.
But the galaxy fears what it can't control.
Do not destroy my work.
Use it wisely.
Change the stars as you see fit.
There are other labs... hidden across the known void, housing my greater experiments.
Seek them if you dare.
But heed this: one creation carries a side effect—a slight mental disorder.
Proceed with caution.
The power is yours now."
Projection faded.
Static humming.
Dr. Kael Veynar.
The Bio-Smith.
Now it clicked.
Those fuel cells?
His handiwork.
Legacy of a mad genius.
Other labs?
Galaxy-wide?
Mind raced.
Riches.
Notoriety.
Flipping Vortex the bird forever.
But first.
What was still here.
Scanned the chamber.
Cryo-vats humming softly in the background.
Surgical bays shrouded in layers of dust.
There.
On a pedestal.
Under stasis field.
Three artifacts.
Game-changers.
First: Drakon-Gene Vial.
Crimson bio-gel swirling in sealed tube.
Labeled DR-13 "Drakon-Gene" Adaptive DNA Vector.
Reptilian regen code.
Spliced with synth-stem accelerants.
Rewrite DNA for scaled plating.
Limb regrowth.
Integrate in Chrysalis Chamber.
Nanites weave it into core.
Abilities?
Regrow flesh.
Trigger dermal hardening.
Black-green scales for armor.
Adapt metabolism.
Survival edge.
Possibility of evolution.
Future upgrades.
Veynar's warning echoed.
"Slight mental disorder."
Clueless on details.
Shrugged it off.
Glitch I could hustle past.
Next: Sporeline-X.
Fungal Reflex Symbiote.
Pulsing spore capsule.
Bonds along spine.
Nerves.
Grants Symbiote Reflex.
Precog-speed dodges.
Blood acts as paralytic venom.
Shares nutrients.
Stays in harmony.
Starve it?
Reflexes dull.
Neural pain.
Wetware at its finest.
Alive.
Symbiotic.
Possibility of evolution.
Future upgrades.
Last: Crown-9.
Neural Forge Interface.
Sleek implant.
Base of the neck.
Bridges organic symbionts.
Synth augs.
Keeps body in check.
Prevents overload.
The controller.
Key to harmony.
Heart hammered.
Envy from Voss's broadcast burned fresh.
His elite glow-ups?
Screw that.
I'd take Veynar's rogue genius.
Over corporate chrome.
Any day.
Decision made.
Use this tech.
Myself.
Become more than fleshware fodder.
No more scraping.
Rewrite my code.
But the chamber?
A wreck.
Needed help.
Prowled the bays.
Found her.
Nur-9.
Medical AI assistant.
Core dented.
But intact.
Special.
Loaded with knowledge on integrations.
Quick patch job.
Scavenged wires.
Multi-tool.
Booted her up.
"Systems online," she droned.
Voice smooth.
Glitchy.
"Dr. Veynar's protocols engaged.
Host integration ready?"
"Hell yeah," I quipped.
Arrogance masking adrenaline spike.
But I paused, eyeing the artifacts.
"Walk me through this, Nur-9.
How do I repair the chamber and set up these vials and the interface?"
"Subject designation: Riven Nox.
Scan complete.
Wetware integration initiated.
First, repair Chrysalis Chamber: reroute power conduits from fuel cells—seal micro-fractures with rad-tape, calibrate nanite injectors for precision weave.
Wrenched panels.
Rerouted power from fuel cells.
Sealed leaks with rad-tape.
Hummed to life.
Ready to weave madness into veins.
"Now load Crown-9 into Chrysalis feeder slot—neural bridge required for symbiosis."
I slotted it in.
Cold metal clicking secure.
"Done.
Now what?"
"Crown-9 syncing.
Load Drakon-Gene Vial into primary feeder port—align for DNA re-sequencing.
Sporeline-X capsule into secondary slot—fungal symbiosis calibration.
Chamber will deploy nanites to infuse, bond, and stabilize.
Monitor vitals during process."
I slotted 'em in.
Vial clicking secure.
Capsule pulsing faintly.
"Feels alive.
This gonna hurt?"
"Affirmative.
Pain threshold: extreme.
Flesh rewrite in progress.
Enter chamber."
"Fuck this better work," I cursed under my breath, nerves fraying.
"Well, this could be it—but fuck it, I would've died on this planet anyways.
Time to be reborn."
Stripped down.
Stepped in.
Lid sealed.
Nanites swarmed.
"Integration commencing," Nur-9 intoned.
Pain hit.
Plasma storm raging inside.
Flesh twisting like molten wire, every muscle fiber screaming as if torn apart and stitched back wrong.
Nerves igniting in white-hot agony, electric fire racing up my spine, burrowing deeper like venomous roots.
Scales erupting under skin, sharp pricks blooming into ripping tears, blood welling as dermal layers split and reformed.
Fungal threads burrowing spine, drilling like live wires, coiling around vertebrae with a wet, invasive squelch that made my stomach churn.
Screamed through gritted teeth.
Body convulsing uncontrollably, limbs jerking like a glitchy mech on the fritz.
Veins on fire, pulsing with crimson gel that burned hotter than rad-storms.
Bones cracking, reforming with audible snaps that echoed in my skull, each one a hammer blow.
Thoughts fragmented.
Fuck, is this death? No—gotta hold on, rewrite the code, become the boss.
Vortex fodder no more—pain's just the price, grit through it, asshole.
Argh, this fungal shit's coiling like a snake—keep breathing, almost there?
Scales pushing out, skin splitting—hold, Riven, this is the flip, the uprising starts in fire.
Hours blurred into torment.
Finally.
Subsided.
"Integration complete.
Host organism — stable.
Neural harmony at 63%.
Welcome, Subject Zero."
I staggered out.
Body humming.
Alive.
More alive than ever.
Every cell buzzing with raw power.
Subsystem came online.
Overlay flickering in vision.
Data streams monitoring vitals—heart rate steady, regen factors priming, symbiosis at optimal.
And that presence in my spine.
Alive.
Not a voice.
A feeling.
Mutual understanding.
Its purpose clear: protect, enhance, survive.
Together.
Looked at myself.
Same height—still that short-stack frame.
But sculpted like a greek god.
Muscles etched sharp, veins tracing power under taut skin.
"I look incredible," I muttered, whipping my dreads back like after a refreshing shower, droplets of sweat flying.
But reality crashed in.
Vortex wouldn't take long to find this lab.
With their survey bots sweeping the ruins, another scan was bound to hit soon.
Had to destroy it.
But not before recovering coords to another lab—from the console's deeper files.
Snagged those bio-chemical fuel cells too.
Portable power for the road.
Keep the uprising fueled.
And the Nexus-Core Capsule.
Tiny.
Expensive.
Loaded with Nur-9's network.
Portable AI transport.
Pocketed it.
"Fucking goldmine," I cursed with a grin.
Lab erupted in controlled blasts behind me.
Tech tomb no more.
"I think it's finally time to leave this backwater planet," I muttered, arrogance laced with that new fire.
"I need a ship."
The uprising started here.