K sat inside the glass chamber on the single narrow bed it contained. The transparent walls curved slightly, reflecting his image back at him—metal beneath skin, light pulsing faintly where flesh met machinery. Around him, doctors moved in controlled urgency, their white coats brushing against humming consoles, while autonomous robots glided silently between stations, projecting streams of data into the air.
They were conducting a detailed survey.
Again.
The footage of the mutated dogs replayed endlessly on floating screens—each frame dissected, slowed, analyzed. No one could understand how K had neutralized them so effortlessly.
He had never been trained for combat.
His original programming for the beginning was simple. Walk. Lift objects. Perform basic labor. Nothing more.
Yet he had crushed genetically enhanced zombie beasts with terrifying precision.
The doctors were worried.
Not about the dogs.
About corruption.
A robot was considered corrupted when emotions or accumulated knowledge turned it against humans. When logic fractured into rebellion. The solution was absolute—immediate deactivation followed by complete melting of the core.
It was so rare that it had occurred only once in recorded history.
And that single incident had plunged three cities into chaos.
K was even more dangerous.
Because he wasn't a robot.
He was a cyborg.
He possessed emotions—rage, fear, anger, attachment, jealousy. Emotions that could rot obedience from the inside. That was why all his past memories had been erased. That was why a D'Chip had been implanted into his system—an override device that made him an absolute slave to whoever controlled it.
He was half human and half machine.
Every human limitation had been replaced.
Weak limbs were exchanged for weapon-lashed mechanical arms and high-tech legs capable of extreme acceleration. Yet what they truly needed—what they had preserved at all costs—was his heart and his brain.
Modified, reinforced, but still human.
His torso carried metal beneath the flesh, intricate synthetic structures woven under muscle and bone, yet blood still flowed warmly through him. His heart still beat. His mind still dreamed.
It had been two days since he returned from death.
Sometimes, it still felt unreal—like a glitch in his consciousness.
A knock echoed softly against the glass.
"K."
K lifted his head and nodded.
Wanda stood outside, exhaustion faintly lining her face. With a subtle movement of her finger, a screen appeared between them, displaying the footage from two days ago—the dog fight, frame by frame.
"Can you tell me," she asked carefully, "who taught you to fight like that?"
Silence stretched, thick and deliberate.
"I saw it on the internet," K replied calmly.
Relief washed over Wanda's face, visible and immediate. "Oh, thank God. You almost stopped my heart." She exhaled, then added firmly, "And please don't watch anything online. You are still not authorized to access the internet."
K nodded obediently.
He looked human—disturbingly so.
Black hair, neatly cut in a wolf style. Artificially enhanced blue eyes that reflected light too sharply. He was tall, well-built, his posture relaxed yet alert, the body of a healthy young man.
Too human for comfort.
The silence lingered again.
Wanda sighed. "If you feel lonely, you can talk to Lilo. I'll activate him for you."
K tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Who is Lilo?"
She chuckled softly. "Lilo is a micro supercomputer. He holds data on the entire known universe. Think of him as your inner voice—someone to talk to when you're alone." She paused. "Though I doubt you even know what loneliness is anymore."
K didn't respond.
I know it very well, he thought.
I learned it when my friends died one by one.
When I died alone.
Suddenly, red alarms blared.
The entire facility jolted into motion.
Scientists ran, systems shut down, emergency lights flashing violently. The team rushed toward the exits—only to be blocked by armed soldiers at the doors.
The army stormed in, weapons raised.
Wanda stiffened. She already knew.
One man stepped forward, shoving his ID toward her face. "There's a mission for that pile of garbage."
Blood surged through Wanda's veins. "What the hell are you talking about, General Hans? You have no authority to enter private property like this!"
Hans met her glare coldly and played a recording.
"This is Will. Permission granted."
Wanda shouted, "No. She can't do that. K isn't ready for combat!"
Hans walked past her without slowing. "That's not your decision."
His gaze landed on K behind the glass.
"Do it's you," he muttered, then turned back.
"Open it."
Wanda hesitated, then stepped forward. She scanned her eyes.
With a slow hiss, the chamber opened.
K stepped out.
Outside, the world roared. Minutes later.
K stood before a massive metallic building, surrounded by a sea of people—crowds packed tightly, some curious, some furious, some desperate for hope.
Above the structure, a man hovered in midair.
He stared down at K with mocking
amusement.
This has changed, K realized calmly.
In my past life, I lost here. This time—I won't.
Every second was being broadcast live.
The first cyborg—K19999—stood before the world.
The man in the air was middle-aged, wearing a white coat and glasses. He floated two floors above ground, arms crossed lazily.
"What's this?" he sneered. "You brought a child to fight me?"
He clenched his fist.
The armored vehicle K had arrived in began to crumple violently, metal screeching as if crushed by an invisible hand.
"Are you sure you want him to face me?"
Robotic police units surrounded the area, weapons locked and ready.
Whispers spread through the crowd. He's too young. He looks human.
K looked up.
And vanished.
In the next instant, he stood face to face with the man in midair.
The man staggered back. "How—"
Wanda inhaled sharply. That's impossible. He shouldn't know his systems yet.
The man laughed nervously and thrust both hands forward, clenching them with force.
Nothing happened.
"What? Why aren't you crushing?"
K's voice echoed from every direction at once. "You can control metal," he said evenly.
"Too bad."
"I'm not made of it."
The punch landed.
Space warped from the impact. The man was hurled through three buildings, concrete exploding outward.
The shockwave thundered.
The crowd gasped—then erupted into cheers.
"He's a hero!"
K landed lightly, senses razor-sharp.
That was too easy.
Suddenly, he turned, catching a speeding petrol truck with one hand.
From the ruins, the man emerged, laughing, his form reconstructing unnaturally.
"Did you really think," he sneered, "this was the end?"