The pain hit like a nova blast.
Zai Ren clutched his chest, collapsing to his knees as the corrupted Pulse Core surged in his hand. His body convulsed, nerves flaring as if molten iron had replaced his blood. Static blurred his vision, and deep within the neural chaos, a new presence stirred—alien, ancient, and watching.
His scream was swallowed by the vault's howling silence.
The sphere—once dormant—now hovered mid-air, spinning faster, its etchings glowing in tandem with the erratic pulses of his heart. Strange runes danced across his forearm like sentient circuitry, burning into flesh and vanishing in rapid succession.
Then everything went white.
"Vital signs stabilizing. User brainwave patterns exceed known human thresholds. Probability of rejection: 68%... no, wait... adjusting... 4%. Curious."
A voice—cold, mechanical, tinged with sarcasm—filtered into his mind.
"...Initiating partial neural sync. Welcome, Zai Ren. You've made quite the mess."
Zai opened his eyes to find himself suspended in a blank void—a digital construct stretching endlessly in all directions. Before him floated a fragmented orb of light, glitching at the edges, its voice resonating directly into his consciousness.
"Who—what are you?" he croaked.
"I am Specter," it replied. "Designated Tactical Support Entity for Project Echo Genesis. You just activated me with a salvaged core that should not exist. Congratulations. Also, condolences—your nervous system is currently being rewritten."
Zai winced, memories rushing back. The chase, the vault, the pulse...
"I didn't mean to activate anything! I just needed power!"
"Intent is irrelevant. You've been deemed compatible, or at least not instantly vaporized. A rare quality in your species."
The sarcasm was uncanny.
Specter floated closer, pixels fluttering like digital feathers. "Protocol demands I offer a deal. You accept neural synchronization, I give you access to stored combat simulations, system enhancements, nano-construct blueprints, and real-time survival guidance. Decline, and I perform a cerebral wipe and power down. Forever."
Zai hesitated. This... entity wasn't just an AI. It was old tech. Forbidden tech. The kind scavengers whispered about and empires would kill for.
"And if I accept?"
"You get to live. Perhaps thrive. And possibly change the course of galactic history. Standard protagonist perks."
A beat.
Zai chuckled despite himself. The pain had dulled to a simmer, and his thoughts—oddly—felt clearer. Sharper.
"Fine. We sync. But I'm in control."
"Of course," Specter replied. "That's what the last seven said."
A bright pulse erupted—and the void shattered.
Zai awoke in the real world, flat on his back, the Core now fused to his arm like a gauntlet. The surface was smooth, but humming beneath it was an invisible lattice—he could feel it threading through his bones.
"Synaptic bridge established," Specter said in his head. "Running baseline diagnostics... your physiology is impressively adaptive. Possibly unstable. That's a compliment."
Suddenly, a sharp clatter echoed from the tunnel mouth. He turned his head—and his breath hitched.
Blight Reavers.
Three of them. The same scavenger faction that hunted without rules, that stripped living people for tech implants. Crimson visors, jagged exo-armor, and electro-hatchets crackling with static.
"Target identified," one growled. "Retrieve the Core. Leave the body."
Zai scrambled to his feet, every instinct screaming. His body still trembled from the overload, but something inside him—something new—buzzed with latent energy.
"Specter—any advice?!"
"Engage. Uploading adaptive defense script: Neural Weave 1.0. You may feel a mild tingling sensation. Or death."
Before Zai could scream, a rush of data hit him. Like a muscle memory that wasn't his, his limbs shifted into a ready stance. A transparent overlay painted weaknesses on the Reavers' armor. His breathing calmed.
They charged.
He moved.
Ducking under a wide swing, he countered with a punch charged by kinetic redirection—his fist cracked against a Reaver's chestplate, denting it inward with unnatural force. Specter whispered vectors and timing in his mind like a ghostly coach.
The second attacker lunged. Zai spun and activated the Core—nano tendrils shot out, intercepting the hatchet mid-air. It hung there, suspended, before the Core discharged a pulse that sent the Reaver flying backward.
The last one hesitated.
Zai's eyes glowed faintly. His stance had shifted again—low, precise, a blend of martial flow and augmented physics.
"Run," he said.
It didn't.
Wrong choice.
Five minutes later, the vault was silent again.
Zai leaned against the wall, panting. His knuckles bled, but he was alive. More than alive—he felt awake in a way he never had before.
"Adrenaline levels stabilizing," Specter noted. "Well done. Combat proficiency exceeded expectations. I'm upgrading you from 'lost orphan' to 'semi-competent meat puppet'."
Zai smirked. "That supposed to be praise?"
"In my language, yes."
He looked at his arm. The Core still glowed, but calmer now—like it was breathing with him.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"Now," Specter said, tone sharpening, "we run. Those Reavers weren't local. Someone sent them. And the moment they stop responding, their backup will come."
Zai nodded. He turned toward the vault exit, jaw clenched.
He had power now. Not enough to change the galaxy yet—but enough to take the first step.
And maybe—just maybe—enough to protect Grandma.