For him, the days—or what he thought were days—blurred into one endless stretch of torment. The constant shocks, the unyielding cold, and the suffocating isolation made each second feel like an eternity. His mind teetered on the edge of collapse, but he couldn't let go. Not yet. Fear held him tethered, a fear of what was to come.
Finally, the door hissed open. The sharp click of Banner Steid's shoes on the floor sent a jolt of dread through him. Banner's calm, calculating presence filled the room as two masked assistants followed, their hands laden with strange equipment.
"It's time," Banner said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.
The protagonist tried to speak, to plead, but his throat was dry, his voice reduced to a faint rasp. His body, weakened and trembling, could only twitch against the rubber straps. The assistants approached him silently, their movements precise and practiced.
"This," Banner said as he gestured to the machinery being assembled around the bed, "is the culmination of years of work. You should feel honored, though I suspect you don't have the capacity for gratitude right now."
The assistants wheeled a sleek, cylindrical device closer, its surface glinting under the harsh lights. The hum of the machine filled the room, a low, ominous sound that set the protagonist's heart racing.
He tried to struggle, but the straps held firm, their rubbery texture unyielding against his skin. One of the assistants began preparing his head, carefully shaving away patches of hair to expose his scalp. The cold touch of antiseptic stung against his skin, and panic surged in his chest.
"Let me go," he managed to croak, his voice barely audible. "Please... don't do this."
Banner's lips curled into a faint smile. "I'm afraid your consent was never required. This is bigger than you, and soon, you'll understand just how small you are in the grand design."
The assistant placed a metallic device over the top of his head, its edges snug against his skull. The machine whirred louder as it locked into place, sending faint vibrations through his entire body. He felt the pressure against his scalp as clamps secured the device.
"This is the uploading phase," Banner explained, his tone clinical, as if delivering a lecture. "Every neuron in your brain, every synapse, every fragment of your consciousness will be scanned and transformed into data. Piece by piece, you'll be copied into the system."
The protagonist's heart pounded in his chest. "You can't... you can't do this!" he choked out, his voice cracking with desperation.
But Banner was unmoved. "I can. And i will."
The machine emitted a high-pitched tone, and then the process began. A searing beam of light cut through his skull, and his body arched involuntarily against the restraints. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever known—sharp, relentless, and all—consuming. He screamed, the sound raw and primal, filling the room.
"Stay conscious," Banner instructed coldly. "It's better this way. The data will be more accurate if you remain aware."
The laser moved methodically, vaporising his brain layer by layer. Each pass felt like fire, burning through his very essence. Memories flooded his mind in chaotic flashes—his childhood, his solitude, the empty years of his life before this nightmare. Each fragment was ripped from him, digitized and stored, leaving a hollow void in its place.
The assistants worked in silence, adjusting the machine as it continued its grim task. The protagonist's vision blurred, his tears mixing with sweat as he thrashed weakly against the straps. His thoughts fragmented, breaking apart like glass under a hammer.
Banner watched the process intently, his expression one of detached satisfaction. "You're holding up better than expected. This is good, everything can go very well if you keep like this"
The words barely registered as top of his brain is 20% is vaporised. The protagonist's world was reduced to the hum of the machine, the searing pain, and the suffocating realization that he was being unmade, piece by piece.
After only minutes, the machine emitted a final, deafening beep and powered down. The protagonist's body went limp against the bed, with his hollowed skull laying dead.
"It's done," Banner announced, a note of triumph in his voice. "The upload is complete. Congratulations—you are now the first of your kind." After Banner spoke, it is only silence, his body lay motionless on the bed, lifeless.
The assistants removed the device from his head, revealing raw, reddened skin beneath, inside the skull is empty. The protagonist's eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. He was a hollow shell, deceased.
"You're no longer who you were," Banner said to the protagonist deceased body, leaning closer to whisper. "You're something far greater now. And soon, you'll see it for yourself." he spoke again, even though he is very awared that the protagonist is already dead.
Then Banner's assistants stepped back, scared of his dark and twisted side.
Banner stared down at the still form, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he turned to the assistants. "Dispose of it," he ordered coldly. "The body no longer matters. What he is now exists elsewhere."
With that, Banner turned and left the room, the door sliding shut behind him. The low hum of the machine lingered in the air —.