The city above was burning.
Not literally—at least, not tonight—but Cam Whitlock felt the heat anyway. His apartment, wedged between a broken billboard and a forgotten airshaft, vibrated from the rhythmic pounding of nearby industry. Gears turned. Steam hissed. Somewhere down the alley, a gang of modified enforcers argued over stolen black market serums. He barely noticed anymore.
His eyes were locked on a small red light blinking on the wall.
BLINK. BLINK. BLINK.
It wasn't just any light. It was his design—a warning beacon linked to a small network of embedded trackers. Cam's lab was filled with projects like this. Patching holes in the city's technological carcass gave him purpose. And money. Sometimes.
Tonight, though, the blinking was coming from a tracker he never wanted to see flash red.
Derek.
Cam stood abruptly, nearly knocking over a half-finished mech suit in the corner. He crossed to the control board, fingers tapping furiously. The blinking grew faster, urgent. He zoomed in. Location: South Quarter. Coordinates: Derek's apartment.
He didn't hesitate.
He grabbed a case from under the floorboards—containing tools, syringes, and emergency mod units. Then, for the first time in months, he pulled the dust-covered mask off his suit. The armor resembled something between a warbot and a stage prop from a sci-fi opera: sleek, glowing at the joints, and completely impractical for subtlety.
But tonight wasn't for subtlety.
He muttered under his breath. "You better not be dead, you bastard."
—
Cam found Derek's body three blocks from his apartment, discarded in an alley like trash.
One eye gone. Arm severed. Leg twisted in a way that defied bone. Blood soaked through a broken military coat.
"Holy shit," Cam whispered, kneeling. "You weren't kidding about going out with flair."
Derek's chest rose, barely.
Cam acted on instinct. He cracked the case open. Injected stabilizers into Derek's neck. Within minutes, the bleeding slowed. The internal mesh he had designed years ago—experimental nanofibers—began to weave through Derek's body like intelligent thread.
Then came the real work.
In his lab, time didn't exist. Cam moved like a surgeon on borrowed seconds. Sparks flew. Tools whirred. Metal fused with muscle. Artificial circuits pulsed to the beat of a human heart. And as dawn clawed its way through the smogged window, Derek's new body came together.
Missing arm: replaced with a reinforced alloy limb. Enhanced grip. Pulse-charged knuckles.
Missing leg: grafted from military-grade tech. Magnetized joints. Adaptive pressure.
Missing eye: replaced with a lens that shifted color and zoomed with a thought. Cam didn't dare try the night-vision just yet. It might trigger seizures.
Derek's body lay motionless, stitched and wired. Alive, but changed.
Cam stepped back, sweat pouring down his face. His hands shook. He stared at what he'd done—and for the first time in years, doubted his mind.
This wasn't saving a friend.
This was turning one into something else entirely.
The machines hummed. The lens in Derek's new eye flickered.
Cam spoke softly. "Welcome back, buddy."