Epsilon-7's diagnostic systems buzzed to life. He was still a cyborg—his reinforced alloy frame, his processors, and his tools intact. But this was no Earth. His sensors detected a strange energy permeating the air, and the geological scans revealed unimaginable richness: deposits of metals, crystals, and elements he had never seen.
Hell was a paradox. A place of torment, but one of abundance.
He was not alone. Beasts roamed the wastelands—some massive, others serpentine, all grotesque. Epsilon-7 quickly deduced the hierarchy: kill or be killed. His first encounter with a clawed monstrosity left his titanium arm mangled but also awakened his drive: survival demanded innovation.
Using fragments of the beast's carapace and the peculiar red crystals scattered about, he fashioned his first weapon: a plasma-edged blade. As weeks turned into months, Epsilon-7 transformed from prey to predator, upgrading himself with scavenged materials.