[Name: Zen Strix 0.6]
[Type: 2nd-generation Nanites]
[Grade: Military Grade]
[Mass: 7kg]
[Features: These advanced nanobots, designated as 2nd-generation, are programmed with an impressive range of functions. They excel at tasks like tissue engineering, organ repair, and complex disease diagnosis. Moreover, they possess the capacity for intricate body modifications through genetic materials, including gene editing capabilities. Notably, these are standard-grade nanites, surpassing the average 2nd-generation bots in speed, resilience, and overall power.]
[Warning: It's essential to note that this set of nanobots has been utilized at least twice before, which carries potential risks. There's a possibility of infection that could result in gene destabilization or even gene collapse.]
[Warning: Caution is of utmost importance when dealing with these military-grade nanites. Being apprehended by the enforcers would not only lead to the removal of the nanobots but could also result in several decades of isolation as a consequence.]
[Warning: This is a military grade nanite, getting caught by the enforcers would guarantee uninstallation of nanobots ands a few decades in isolation.]
The young man's expression shifted subtly. He hadn't anticipated that the Modifier he'd set his sights on had seen multiple users. One user might have been acceptable, but the fact that it had been utilized by two previous individuals gave him pause. Hesitation flickered across his face.
As for the second warning, he chose not to dwell on it, dismissing it as a potential consequence he was willing to risk.
[User Info]
[Michael Therian]
[Rank: Street Runt]
[Credits: 1272]
[Cellular Diagnostics]
[Strength: 0.6]
[Physique: 0.6]
[Reflex: 0.9]
[Intelligence: 1.2]
[Cell-biofuel: 100/330J]
[Cyberwares]
[Neuro-Morphic Interface]
[Life-level]
[Undefined]
[Skill-ware]
[Basic Brawl]
[Cyberspace] (Common) (lvl. 1)
He examined his Biofuel levels, aware that his body could only produce a limited amount of biofuel cells, even less than an average teenager his age. However, he took solace in the fact that he was still better off than half of the teenagers struggling to survive in the harsh slum environment.
He allocates roughly one-third of his Biofuel to power his Neuro implant and extracts at least half to sell for his daily sustenance.
The Modifier, however, would demand half of his Biofuel reserves to operate. In the event of an infection within the nanobots, it would consume even more Biofuel to combat the infection. This is precisely why the young man hesitated, aware of the potential risks and consequences.
A A few seconds later, the young man reached a decision and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Haha! Excellent!" The trader's excitement was palpable, his sly grin widening. Such significant sales always brought him immense joy and exhilaration.
The middle-aged trader's brows illuminated, a trail of LED lights running from his brows to the side of his forehead.
"My payment line is now open. Connect and initiate the transfer of fifty-five thousand credits."
The young man's flickering eyes came to a halt, and he responded in a subdued tone. "It was fifty thousand credits last time."
"Times change, my friend, and so do prices," the trader replied with a crafty chuckle, shrugging his shoulders.
The young punk hesitated, eyeing the trader warily through the neon-lit haze. He knew he was scraping the bottom of his credit stash.
The trader leaned in, his voice carrying that unmistakable accent, gruff but laced with a sense of hustle. "Look, chum, I get it. Credits ain't exactly overflowing in these parts. But how about this? I got a sweet deal runnin' right now. I'll throw in an assistant nanite with that Zen Strix. You'll be walkin' outta here with both for the same price." His sly grin held all the charm of a back-alley deal in Neon City.
Observing the young man's continued hesitation, the trader shifted his tactics, his voice taking on a more heartfelt tone, a rare sight in the grimy streets of the city.
"Listen, friend," he began, his expression turning almost mournful. "I'm takin' a hit on this deal myself, truth be told. This 1st-gen could fetch me at least twenty grand, easy. But it's been with me for over a decade, collecting dust. If it weren't for the fact that you strike me as a decent soul, I wouldn't even consider givin' it to you for free." His words hung in the smoky air, a rare moment of sincerity in the cutthroat world they inhabited.
The middle-aged trader delved into a nearby duffel bag, unveiling an assortment of gleaming, metallic objects. His hand then reached into the pile of wares and produced an even heavier cube of metal. Unlike the previous one, this cube bore uneven edges, although it attempted to maintain a semblance of a perfect square shape. The young man couldn't help but doubt whether it was genuinely a set of nanobots or simply a heap of scrap metal. Yet, his Neuro scan assured him of its authenticity.
The young cyberpunk mulled over the offer briefly before giving a determined nod. "Alright, it's a deal."
In an instant, the young man's eyes flickered with a subtle glow as his augmented Neuro Implant executed a swift, encrypted credit transfer, sending the agreed payment to the black market trader's secure vault. The transaction was complete.
As he watched the transfer progress bar slowly inch forward on his virtual display, a familiar surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. The prospect of owning his very own Modifier was an electrifying one.
The trader, still wearing that sly smile, observed the entire transaction with ease, his own neuro implants undoubtedly monitoring every step of the exchange.
Within the blink of an eye, the middle-aged trader's grin broadened as the Credits flowed into his vault. "Pleasure doing business with you, young man," he chimed. "Now, since you've got that Gene Modifier, you're gonna need some blueprints and genetic materials to make the most of it. I've got a couple of chips you might fancy - a Basic hand-to-hand combat chip and an Advanced light-step chip. Just slot 'em into your gene-port, and you'll be packing some nifty abilities!" His tone remained persuasive, offering an alluring hint of more enhancements to come.
The young man's frown deepened in realization. The trader's words rang true; if he genuinely aimed to elevate his combat skills, he'd indeed need both genetic materials and chips. Moreover, should he opt for high-level genetic materials, the necessity for a blueprint became evident. The decision weighed heavily on his mind.
But even after all this, the question was, could he afford it? He had paid seven years of his saving on the gene Modifier how long would it require for him to get to purchase a blue print?
Without uttering another word, the young man carefully stowed the two hefty metal blocks into his backpack. The first nanobot weighed a modest 7 kilograms, but the second, an ordinary assistant nanobot, added a considerable burden, somewhere between 15 to 20 kilograms. His bag now felt notably heavier, slowing his pace as he navigated his way out of the bustling market.
"Come back whenever you're ready," the middle-aged trader's voice called out, but it gradually faded into the background. His calculating eyes bore a mocking glint as he observed the young man's departure.
• * * * *
Feeling a rush of excitement and eagerness at the thoughts of installing the nanites and the prospect of what he would be able to accomplish in the near future after becoming Splixer.
Michael rushed towards his home with his head lowered.
He knew the dangers of this world, but he was willing to take the risk if it meant getting ahead. With a renewed sense of confidence, he stepped out of the dark alley way into the neon-lit street.
But just as he had walked ten feets out into the street. Two pairs of hands locked at his shoulders in a vice grip before his neuro system could have the opportunity to warn him, he was forcefully dragged backwards into a dark alley like a kite whose rope was caught by a fast moving vehicle.
"BAM!"
The unmistakable sound of flesh impacting iron echoed through the alley.
Michael winced as pain radiated from his back, but that was the least of his concerns at this moment.
A single muscular hand clamped around his neck, like a genetically modified vice, hoisting him up as though he weighed less than nothing.
"Where is it?" a menacing voice demanded.
A gruff voice hissed menacingly into his ears, and Michael's gaze locked onto the spiral tattoo adorning the man's face. Fear washed over him as he realized the gravity of the situation.
No wonder his neuro implant system had failed to alert him to the impending danger. This person was a member of the most notorious gang in the slums..
"W-what are you talking about?" Michael managed to crook out those words.
"W-what are you talking about?" Michael managed to croak out the words, his voice trembling.
The hands that had been tightly gripping his neck released their hold slightly, offering a brief respite. Michael felt a loud bang go off in his head. It was as though a massive town bell had fit in his head and then rang off.
When he finally regained consciousness, Michael found himself sprawled on the ground, his head throbbing with pain. Blood oozed from a gash on his head, forming a dark trail down to the ground. The gang member once again hoisted him up, his grip unrelenting.
"I won't ask again, where is it!?" Despite the excruciating pain coursing through him, Michael remained resolute, refusing to utter another word. It was painfully clear that the man had come for his recently acquired Modifier.
At this point, he'd rather die than lose the optimizer! He had spent almost ten years gathering resources and credits to obtain this chance, no matter the pain, he would never forgive himself of he lost it.
"BOOM! BANG!! BANG!!!"
Numerous colliding sounds echoed from the alley and despite how loud the clash was, no one came to help. They avoided the place like a plague.
Roughly ten minutes later, the sound weakened and ultimately stopped.
"Hmph!" The man with the tattoo sorted coldly as he went through Michael's bag. He knew for sure the item was inside the bag but he takes massive joy in beating people up.
Most people within this low life district are strong willed individuals therefore, no matter how much you torture them, as long as they don't lose their items in the end, they would endure. They'd rather die than see their belongings get stolen.
The masked man spotted the two metal blocks and let out a mocking, icy laugh. "You think you can fool anyone with this chunk of metal?" He hurled the uneven metal block at Michael's back.
Michael's world swirled with pain as he felt his ribs crack, gasping for air through blood-soaked lips.
Pulling out the Zen Strix 0.6 Modifier, the man's eyes gleamed as his Neuro implant confirmed it was the genuine product.
The man let out a triumphant laugh and was about to make his exit when he abruptly halted. He glanced downward, his gaze fixing on a bloodied hand gripping his leg with determination.
The Masked man couldn't help but chuckle, seemingly impressed by Michael's unwavering resolve. With a swift motion, he lifted his right leg and forcefully stomped it down upon the hand that clung to him.
This time, the cracking sound was even more pronounced than before, resonating through the dimly lit alleyways like the sharp pops of corn kernels.
Michael, who had endured the torture in silence, finally emitted a muffled groan of agony. His five fingers were mangled beyond recognition, and his wrist had been twisted at an unnatural angle.
Then came a resounding "Bam!" as a powerful kick to the head sent Michael's limp body hurtling toward the iron wall like a discarded rag doll. He tumbled to the ground, leaving his fate uncertain—whether he was unconscious or worse, remained unknown.
The Masked man regarded Michael in silence, his thoughts pondering. Growing up in this harsh environment had molded everyone into individuals of unwavering determination, but he found himself genuinely surprised by Michael's level of stubbornness.
Despite his internal musings, all the Masked man let out was a low grunt of acknowledgement. It was evident that Michael had endured quite a lot.
With a mere mental command, the genetically enhanced muscle fibers in his feet expanded, their rippling motion resembling the flow of a river as they revealed the metallic gleam of his skin, entirely different from cybernetic implants. It was as though they were real flesh and blood!
"BOOM!" A shockwave, amplified by his enhanced bioelectric field, blasted out from beneath his feet, clearing out every electronic device within a hundred meter radius like an EMP.
The Masked man leapt upwards by the sheer force of his augmented legs, shooting towards the sky almost like a projectile as he disappeared from sight.
He was actually a true Altered!