Winning had long lost its thrill for Reever. Victory wasn't a surprise anymore—it was a habit, a reflex, as natural to him as breathing had once been. When the system's monotone voice announced his triumph, there was no joy, no spark of satisfaction. It was just another outcome in a game that had become his existence.
But what did catch his attention was the message that followed—an invitation.
"You have emerged victorious. Choose your next form. Select the type of Bot you wish to become."
The words lingered, sharp and hollow in the empty space around him. This wasn't just another match. The choice he was about to make mattered. It would shape his next existence—his speed, his strength, his purpose—and maybe even his fate.
The void around him shimmered with infinite white light, stretching endlessly in every direction. It was silent, sterile, and vast enough to make his thoughts echo. He sat down cross-legged on the smooth, glassy floor, tapping his metallic fingers against it as if it were a desk. The sound rang softly—clink, clink, clink—steady like a clock.
He needed to think.
There were four classes of bots. He knew them all.
Tank bots were the juggernauts of the field—slow, unstoppable walls of armor. Their defense was absurd, their endurance unmatched, but their lack of agility turned every fight into a grinding test of patience. Reever had no interest in crawling through combat like a walking fortress.
Then there were the Dodge bots—quick, slippery, almost graceful in their movements. They were brilliant scouts, unpredictable, always dancing just out of reach. But they were fragile. A single well-placed shot and they'd crumble. Reever had never been one to run; he preferred to end fights, not escape them.
That left two choices: the Kill bot and the Aim bot.
The Kill bot was cunning—almost human in its strategy. It could adapt, mimic, and anticipate. It was a predator, relentless and deadly. But it came with a cruel design flaw: when cornered, it self-destructed. Reever frowned at the thought. The idea of ending himself out of desperation was disgusting. He didn't play to explode. He played to survive.
The Aim bot, though… that was different. Precision. Control. Calm. It was the embodiment of discipline. No chaos, no brute strength—just pure, cold accuracy. Its kills were clean, its purpose singular.
He thought about it for a long while, letting silence stretch. Then he exhaled, even though he didn't need to breathe.
"Fine," he muttered. "Aim bot it is."
The moment the choice locked in, the floor beneath him rippled like liquid glass. Gravity lost its meaning. His body lifted into the air, weightless, drawn upward as though an invisible hand had plucked him from the world. Then, without warning, he was hurled downward.
But he didn't fall into water.
He fell into code.
The pool below shimmered like liquid light, filled not with waves, but with cascading streams of symbols—lines of living data, constantly shifting and reforming. As soon as he hit the surface, pain exploded through him.
It wasn't the pain of flesh or bone—it was something deeper, more primal. The code invaded his body, dissecting him, rewriting him, tearing him apart only to rebuild him again. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His voice didn't exist here. His vision fractured into thousands of numbers, his awareness flickering in and out of existence.
Every second felt eternal. Every flash of light tore through his mind like fire.
And then—silence.
He fell back onto solid white ground, trembling though his body was made of steel. The pain faded, leaving behind a strange emptiness.
A familiar voice echoed in the void.
"Congratulations, BOT 067. You have now become a Rookie Aim Bot. Proceed to the armory to obtain your designated weapon and armor. Follow the arrow displayed on your path."
A faint ping sounded, and a glowing blue arrow appeared at his feet.
Reever stared at it for a moment, then stood. His new body felt… different. Lighter, sharper. His vision was clearer—colors more defined, motion more fluid. Every sound, every vibration of the digital world hummed in perfect rhythm.
He followed the arrow.
The white void shifted as he walked, transforming pixel by pixel until it became something tangible—a wide, metallic chamber. The air was cooler here, filled with a soft mechanical hum. At the room's center stood a single green chest, its surface pulsing gently with light.
He recognized that color immediately. Green meant Uncommon. That gave him about a seventy percent chance of decent gear. Rare? Unlikely. Epic? Practically impossible. Two in ten thousand odds. Still, he couldn't help the small flicker of hope that stirred within.
A key materialized in front of him, floating like a hologram. Reever reached out, grasped it, and slid it into the chest's lock. The moment it turned, a flash of green light filled the room, flooding it with energy.
When it faded, three items hovered within the chest: a weapon, an armor piece, and a small, glowing disc.
He reached for the weapon first.
"You have acquired: Uncommon Crossfire-44."
Reever tilted his head. The name didn't ring any bells. He'd played enough shooters to memorize every weapon name, from the classics to the absurd. Crossfire-44 was new.
The gun shimmered with sleek, greenish metal, its frame shaped like the curved spine of a serpent. Energy veins pulsed faintly along its length. It was elegant, almost alive. He lifted it, feeling its balance—lightweight, plasma-based, built for precision. No recoil. A sniper's dream and nightmare in one.
"Experimental, huh?" he muttered. "Let's see what you can do."
Setting it aside, he reached for the armor next.
"You have acquired: Uncommon Titan Fiber."
The moment his fingers touched it, the armor responded—thin silver threads of light wrapping around his limbs, chest, and torso. It spread like living fabric, forming a dark, flexible suit that felt both alien and familiar. It moved with him perfectly, adjusting to each motion like a second skin.
He glanced at his reflection in the chest's metallic surface. The figure staring back wasn't human. It was sharper, sleeker, eyes glowing faintly with a steady blue light. A soldier reborn—not of flesh, but of data and steel.
Only one item remained: the circular disc.
It hovered quietly, its edges glowing with a soft, rhythmic pulse, almost like a heartbeat. Reever hesitated before touching it.
The moment his hand met its surface, the air around him vibrated, and new text appeared before his eyes:
"You have unlocked: Auxiliary Module — Unknown Type.""Do you wish to initialize?"
The disc began to hum, its glow intensifying, sending thin ripples of light through the air.
Reever narrowed his eyes. "Now what the hell are you?"
The vibration deepened, the symbols on the disc spinning faster. He could feel a faint energy pulling at him, syncing with his internal code.
He wasn't sure if it was an upgrade… or a trap.
Either way, he knew one thing—whatever waited beyond that choice would decide if this new life was one of domination… or destruction.