The journey back to the heart of District 7 was a surreal, nightmarish pilgrimage. Kai clung to the handlebars of his sputtering electro-cycle, his body a fragile shell attempting to contain a maelstrom of alien energies and terrifying new realities. The azure line projected by the Dragon System onto his vision guided him through a labyrinth of derelict alleys and lightless service tunnels, a path deliberately chosen for its obscurity, shunning the wider, more patrolled thoroughfares. Each jolt of the cycle over cracked permacrete sent waves of nausea through him, and the dull throb at the back of his head was a constant, unwelcome companion. The strange, metallic-sweet taste still lingered in his mouth, a horrifying reminder of the… assimilation… the System had so clinically reported.
He felt profoundly changed, yet outwardly, when he dared to glance at his reflection in a grimy, rain-slicked plasteel shopfront, he looked mostly like himself – Kai, the perpetually underfed courier. Perhaps a little paler, his eyes wider and holding a new, haunted intensity, but no scales, no claws, no overt signs of the monstrous power that had apparently erupted from him, or been forced into him, back on that desolate loading platform. The Dragon System had mentioned his human physiology was "stable," his "Draconic Power Source" now the primary driver. It was a cold comfort. He was a walking paradox, a human shell for something ancient and predatory.
The System itself was a constant, silent presence, its crystalline text a translucent overlay on his world. It offered no conversation, no empathy, just data, analysis, and unnerving suggestions. [CURRENT HOST STATUS: STABLE. DRACONIC ENERGY RESERVES: 32%. PHYSICAL TRAUMA (HEAD): MINOR. MENTAL STRESS: HIGH. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE REST AND RECUPERATION PERIOD.] His energy reserves were already dwindling from the simple act of travel and the stress of his new reality.
It was well past the third sleep cycle when he finally reached his apartment block, a crumbling tenement that leaned precariously against its equally dilapidated neighbors. The streets were deserted, cloaked in the oppressive, smog-filtered darkness that was District 7's perpetual nightlight. He cut the motor of his cycle several blocks away, pushing it the rest of the distance to avoid waking any light sleepers, his movements clumsy with exhaustion. He secured it in its usual hidden spot beneath a collapsed section of an old walkway, then slipped through the building's broken security door like a wraith.
His apartment was dark and blessedly quiet. His mother and Elara were asleep, their soft breathing a fragile sound in the oppressive silence. He didn't dare turn on any lights, navigating by memory and the faint, ambient glow from the city outside filtering through their grimy window. He felt an overwhelming urge to check on them, to reassure himself of their mundane, human normalcy, but he was terrified of what they might see in his eyes, of the alien taint he now carried. He was a contamination, a walking biohazard.
He retreated to his tiny alcove of a room, barely more than a curtained-off section of the main living space. He sank onto his thin mattress, his body trembling uncontrollably. The adrenaline from the borderlands encounter had long since faded, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and a gnawing, existential dread.
He closed his eyes, but the System's interface remained, glowing softly against the darkness of his eyelids. He couldn't escape it. With a sigh of resignation, he focused on it, trying to understand, to make sense of the impossible. 'Status,' he thought, tentatively. He wasn't sure how to interact with it, but the System seemed to respond to focused intent.
The interface shifted, new lines of text appearing: [HOST STATUS: KAI-734 (DESIGNATION PENDING)] [SYSTEM INTEGRATION LEVEL: NASCENT (STAGE 1)] [PRIMARY POWER SOURCE: DRACONIC (SHADOW WYRM – JUVENILE EVOLUTIONARY STAGE)] [CURRENT LEVEL: 1 (0/100 EXP TO LEVEL 2)] [DRACONIC ENERGY RESERVES: 30% (CRITICALLY LOW – REST AND SUSTENANCE REQUIRED)]
[CORE ATTRIBUTES (HUMAN BASELINE + INITIAL ASSIMILATION BONUS):]
STRENGTH (STR): 6 (Base 5 + Assimilation Bonus 1)
VITALITY (VIT): 6 (Base 5 + Assimilation Bonus 1)
AGILITY (AGI): 5 (Base 5)
PERCEPTION (PER): 5 (Base 5)
COGNITION (COG): 6 (Base 6)
DRACONIC AFFINITY (DRA): 1 (Nascent – Determines potential for Draconic evolution and ability manifestation)
[ABILITIES & ARTS (LOCKED/DORMANT):]
ANIMA FORM SHIFTING (DRACONIC PROTOFORM): [LOCKED – REQUIRES HIGHER DRACONIC AFFINITY & ENERGY RESERVES]
DRACONIC SENSES (PASSIVE – TIER 0): [PARTIALLY ACTIVE – LOW LIGHT VISION (MINOR), ENHANCED OLFACTORY (TRACE)]
(MULTIPLE ADDITIONAL DRACONIC ARTS & EVOLUTIONS: [LOCKED – PENDING LEVEL PROGRESSION & AFFINITY INCREASE])]
[ACTIVE QUESTS/OBJECTIVES:]
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVAL & EVOLUTION (ONGOING)
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: REST & RECOVER (IMMEDIATE – RESTORE DRACONIC ENERGY RESERVES TO >75%)
Kai stared at the information, his mind struggling to process it. Level 1? EXP? Attributes? It was like something out of the MBL simulator games Leo was obsessed with, but this was his life, his body. The permanent +1 to his Strength and Vitality from the "assimilation" was a chilling confirmation of what had happened to those thugs. He was stronger, tougher, because this… Dragon System… had fed on them through him. The thought made him feel physically ill.
"Draconic Affinity." "Anima Form Shifting." "Draconic Senses." The terms were alien, terrifying. He wasn't a MOD. Leon was a MOD; he had an Anima, a biological manifestation of power. This System, this Draconic Power Source, felt entirely different – an external, almost parasitic intelligence that had forcibly integrated itself with him, promising evolution through means that seemed monstrous.
The "Abilities & Arts" section was mostly locked, but the mention of "Draconic Protoform" sent a fresh shiver of dread down his spine. What did that mean? Would he actually turn into a dragon? The images from his blackout – the leathery wings, the reptilian eye – flashed through his mind.
And the "Sustenance Required"… The System had already made it clear what that entailed. The advisory about seeking out "Ancient Creatures" or beings with "concentrated Anima fields" for optimal growth echoed ominously. Was that its ultimate goal? To turn him into a predator that hunted the most powerful beings in the city, like Leon?
A wave of despair washed over him. He was trapped. He couldn't tell anyone. Who would believe him? They'd lock him up in a District 8 psych-ward, or worse, hand him over to some black-ops research facility if they ever found out what he now carried within him. Roric, with his talk of "significant penalties," came to mind. What would his anonymous client do if they discovered their package had not just failed to deliver, but had transformed the courier?
The Chimera Group, too. The System had warned of "unwanted attention." If they were already investigating the energy signature from the package detonation, how long before they started looking for the lone survivor?
He was alone with this terrible secret, this monstrous power. The weight of it was crushing. He curled up on his thin mattress, pulling his threadbare blanket around him, shivering despite the thrumming energy that now seemed to be a permanent part of him. The azure glow of the System interface eventually faded as his exhaustion overcame him, but he knew it was still there, lurking just behind his eyelids, a silent, patient intelligence waiting for him to wake, to feed, to evolve.
His last coherent thought before succumbing to a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep was a single, desperate question that echoed the System's own query: What have I become?