The cold steel of the operating table felt like the only constant in Reo Nishimura's life. As he lay motionless, the faint hum of machines around him was the only sound that kept his mind anchored to the present. The rest of his world was a blur—a lifetime of memories erased, every piece of his past slowly melting away in the face of what the AO Federation had made him.

Six years old. That was how old he was when they found him—tangled in the streets of a city long abandoned by hope. Earth's surface had been scarred by decades of war, its once-proud nations now little more than fractured remnants clinging to what little they had left. But the Federation didn't care about Earth's ruins. They cared about Reo. They saw potential in him—the raw, untapped potential of a boy who had learned to survive when everyone else had failed.

A faint stinging sensation cut through his thoughts, and Reo's vision blurred as the needles pierced his skin. He winced, but the pain was fleeting, replaced by a numbing cold as synthetic substances flooded his bloodstream. The world outside faded, and he slipped into a fog of anesthesia.

When he woke, it was to a world that was no longer his own.

His body was a machine. His hands, now stronger than steel, felt foreign and unnatural, like they belonged to someone else. His senses were heightened beyond anything he had ever known—every sound, every flicker of light, every breath of air sharper, more precise. He could feel the pulse of his heart in his throat, each beat a testament to the power flowing through him. But there was something else—something sinister. His head buzzed, a quiet hum beneath his thoughts, reminding him of the chip they had implanted in his brain.

The chip.

He sat up quickly, his heart racing. The chip was their control. It monitored everything. Every thought. Every movement. Every desire. If Reo disobeyed even the smallest order, it would detonate, frying his brain in a split second. There would be no escape, no second chances. The Federation had seen to that.

A door slid open in front of him, and a tall figure stepped through—a woman with cold, calculating eyes and a posture that screamed authority. Ayana.

"You're awake," she said, her voice as emotionless as ever. Ayana had been his mentor for as long as Reo could remember, teaching him the art of assassination, sharpening his skills until he was a blade that cut through the darkness of the galaxy.

"How long?" Reo's voice was rough, strained from disuse. He didn't like the silence. The uncertainty. The unknown.

"Three days," Ayana replied. "We had to make sure the modifications took. Now you're ready. We leave for the mission tomorrow."

Reo nodded, though the weight of the Federation's power still pressed down on him. He was more than human now—stronger, faster, smarter—but what good was any of it when he had no control over his own life? His loyalty had been engineered, his will rewritten.

Ayana tilted her head, studying him with her calculating gaze. "The Federation is everything. Loyalty is everything. Without it, we are nothing. Do you understand, Reo?"

He hesitated, then nodded again. He understood, even if it made his stomach churn.

The next day, Reo was strapped into the training chamber alongside his team. Luka, Juno, and Ayana, his only family in this world. They were his comrades, his partners in death. They had all undergone the same modifications, shared the same training, and carried the same chip in their heads. They were bound to the Federation in ways that could never be undone.

The chamber was a sterile, white room with walls that shifted at the touch of a button. It was a place where they learned to kill—quickly, silently, and without hesitation. Today's training exercise was simple: a mock assassination of a high-profile target. But Reo could feel the tension in the air. The Federation had been watching, studying them, waiting for a reason to make sure they were ready.

Luka, the team's muscle, cracked his knuckles, his face a mask of determination. "Let's get this over with."

Juno, the hacker, ran a hand through her short-cropped hair, her eyes scanning the virtual map that hovered in front of her. "We have ten minutes before the simulation starts. Make it count."

Reo stood silent, his hands folded in front of him, the chip in his skull pressing against his consciousness like a constant reminder of who was truly in control.

"Are you ready, Reo?" Ayana asked, her voice low but sharp.

He met her gaze, trying to push down the feeling in his chest, the gnawing discomfort that had been growing ever since he woke up. "I'm ready," he lied.

Ayana nodded once, and the chamber door slid open. A projection of the target appeared in front of them, a faceless figure in a dark suit, standing on a balcony high above the city streets. The simulation began.

Reo moved like a ghost, his movements fluid and precise. He could hear the heartbeat of the target, feel the weight of his presence in the room even as he moved silently behind him. But something shifted inside Reo's mind—a flicker of doubt, a whisper of something beyond the mission.

He hesitated, just for a second, and that hesitation was enough.

The target spun, eyes wide, as Reo's blade came within inches of his neck. He froze, his hand trembling, the blade hovering in the air. The voice in his mind screamed at him to do it, to finish the job. The chip buzzed, threatening to trigger a fatal reaction if he failed.

Ayana's voice came over the comms, cold and unyielding. "Reo, execute. Now."

But Reo's hand did not move.

The chip pulsed, a warning, a reminder that hesitation had consequences. His body screamed for obedience, but his mind—the part of him that was still human—fought back.

And in that split second, Reo realized something that shook him to the core: he didn't want to kill this time.