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Chapter 2 - Chapter 1 – Baby Steps, Sharp Teeth

I have a theory.

Not a big one. Nothing philosophical.

Just this: the first few months of baby life are like playing a hardcore survival game on max difficulty… with tank controls.

Your head's too heavy. Your limbs betray you constantly. Everything is either sticky, sharp, or trying to befriend your mouth.

And the worst part?

You can't roll over.

Forget crawling. Walking? Years away. But rolling? That should be basic. That should be free DLC.

Instead, I was stuck. Stuck in a bassinet with walls too high to climb, blankets tucked with military precision, and the occasional mobile of spinning knives overhead. (Okay, it was probably plastic, but this family's aesthetic makes me suspicious.)

So I trained. Every day. Every hour.

Neck control.

You'd think moving your head wouldn't be a big deal. You'd be wrong.

It was like trying to lift a bowling ball made of pudding. The muscles weren't ready. My brain was on, my spine was trying its best, but my body said:

"Sorry, pal. We're under construction."

Still, I managed to inch my head side to side by week three. Tiny movements.

Microscoots. Enough to start mapping my surroundings from the prison that was my crib.

And that's when I noticed the cameras. Four of them.

Tiny. Dome-shaped. Recessed into the corners of the ceiling.

They weren't blinking red. No indicator lights. But I knew they were watching. One was always pointed at me.

I gave it my best innocent baby look. Blank stare. Soft gurgle. Occasional finger suck.

Then I mouthed the word "help" just to mess with them.

No reaction. Damn.

Silver-eyes was less subtle.

He'd already figured out how to scoot an inch at a time using his shoulders and rage. His name, I'd overheard, was Killua.

He had a resting murder face and eyes that scanned like barcode readers.

One day, while a nurse was leaning in to check on me, Killua—without breaking eye contact with her—stuck his thumb in my ear.

I bit it.

His thumb, not the nurse.

Reflex.

No teeth. Just heavy gum pressure.

He didn't flinch.

He just slowly turned and pressed a second finger against my cheek like he was taking notes.

Great. I was officially the lab rat in his evil twin experiments.

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Zodiac Core System Status: Dormant

=========

Still unchanged. Still silent. I'd tried everything. Thinking at it. Yelling internally. Staring until my baby eyes watered.

All I got was the occasional flicker when I was stressed.

Once, when a nurse jabbed me with a shot, the screen rippled—just for a second.

Nothing new appeared. But I felt something behind it.

A clock, maybe? Or a loading bar?

I don't know. But I decided right then: this thing wasn't passive.

It was waiting.

- - - - - -

Weeks passed. My hearing sharpened. My eyes adjusted.

And I started listening.

The staff rotated constantly. Nurses, guards, strange men in black coats with slitted pupils and notepads made of steel. One had a cane. The cane buzzed when he got too close to Killua.

But the scariest one? The maid.

Her name was Maha. Or maybe that was her unit number. She didn't speak much. She moved like dust. Quiet. Efficient. Eyebrows sharp enough to commit tax fraud.

She came in every morning to clean our room with hands that didn't belong in childcare.

One day, she leaned over my crib to adjust my pillow.

Her finger brushed my cheek. And without thinking—I bit down. Hard.— She didn't pull back.

Didn't shout.

She just looked at me. Long. Unblinking.

Then she smiled.

Not at me.

About me.

- - - - -

That night, the cameras adjusted their angles.

And in the morning, I got a new crib.

Made of metal.

Killua was fascinated.

He crawled over, stuck his head through the bars, and gave me this look like, "What the hell did you do?"

I tried to shrug. Only managed a weird half-wiggle.

Then he made a sound. It wasn't a laugh.

More like a single, sharp hah, like he couldn't believe someone had managed to out-crazy the help.

He respected it. Probably. Or he was mentally filing me under "Do Not Poke."

Either way, I'd won something.

==========

Zodiac Core System

System Note: Observation Trigger Logged

Host Development Milestone Achieved: Voluntary Control (Bite)

Level: 1 (Exp 30/100)

All Cores Remain Sealed

Dormant Status – Stable

==========

Okay.

Now that was new.

No power. No ability. But something had updated.

The system was watching. Measuring. Reacting.

And the kicker?

I liked it.

It didn't scold. Didn't praise. Didn't assign stars or grades.

It just... noticed.

Like an old teacher scribbling notes while pretending to be asleep at the desk.

Some people would've panicked. I grinned. (Okay—drooled. Same idea.)

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