Nero and Drone were getting ready to head out for scouting.
Drone looked up from his gear and said, "There's an extra backpack in the room downstairs. Can you grab it?"
"Sure, why not?" Nero replied.
He went downstairs and found two doors.
"Hey!" he called up. "Which room? There are two down here."
Drone, mid-way through checking his gun, called back, "Oh—left one."
"Alright," Nero said and walked back down.
Drone suddenly froze, his expression shifting.
"Was it the left… or the right?"
Panic flashed across his face. "Oh, shit!"
He jumped up, bolting for the stairs. "NERO!? IT'S THE RIGHT ROOM! DON'T OPEN THE LEFT ROOM!"
But it was already too late.
A loud thud echoed from below.
Drone took the stairs two at a time and skidded to a stop. Nero stood silently in front of the left room, unmoving.
"Nero?" Drone said, his voice cautious. "You okay?"
Nero didn't answer. He just turned his head side to side slowly, then looked down.
Drone followed his gaze—and froze.
Nero's left forearm was lying on the floor.
Completely severed.
His eyes widened in horror. Nero's arm had been cleanly cut off just below the elbow.
But Nero wasn't screaming. He wasn't even flinching.
He just stared at the stump like it didn't belong to him.
Drone rushed forward. "O—okay. This is bad. This is really bad. I need to find Anika. Right now—"
But Nero stopped him with a quiet voice.
"Hey, Drone… why isn't there any blood?"
Drone froze mid-step.
He turned back, heart pounding.
Nero was still calm—too calm.
"I mean… it doesn't even hurt. Why is that?" Nero asked, looking more confused than afraid.
Drone approached slowly. "What are you talking about? Your arm is gone. Maybe you're in shock. Let me see."
Nero lifted what remained of his arm.
Drone's face drained of color.
There was no flesh. No bone. No veins.
The severed end was pitch black inside—just like the cracks that ran across Nero's body.
Nothing human.
Nero turned the arm toward himself and examined it. He reached out with his right hand and carefully touched the inside.
No warmth. No blood. No texture. Nothing.
Then, slowly, he inserted his fingers inside the severed stump.
They kept going. Deeper and deeper—like there was no end.
Only one sensation met him.
Cold.
The kind of cold that didn't belong in the real world.
Drone grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand out. "Nero. Stop. Snap out of it."
Nero looked at him, his voice trembling. "Why can I still feel my left arm, Drone?"
Drone blinked. "What? You can feel it?"
Tears welled up in Nero's eyes.
Then something moved on the floor.
Drone's eyes darted down—the severed arm twitched.
"Nero," he said slowly, "try to close your hand. Your left one."
"How? I don't have it," Nero said.
"Just… try."
Nero focused.
And the fingers on the arm lying on the floor curled into a fist.
Both of them stared, frozen in place.
Drone crouched and cautiously picked it up. The arm felt light—unnaturally light. Still cold. Still empty.
No blood. No tissue. Just more black cracks along the cut.
"I think…" Drone muttered, "I think we can reattach it. We need to get Anika."
He handed the arm to Nero. "Hold this. I'll grab some bandages—we can tie it in place for now."
Drone turned and rushed upstairs. A few moments later, he returned—bandages in hand—only to freeze in place.
Nero was already holding the severed piece near the stump, watching closely.
And then it happened.
The moment the two parts neared each other, they pulled together—flesh weaving seamlessly, like a wound reversing itself.
A faint pulse. A hum in the air. Then silence.
The arm was whole again.
Only now, a thin black line circled the middle of his forearm like a scar—just another crack among many.
Drone stared, stunned, as the bandages slipped from his hands.
Drone asked, "Did it just connect like magnets? Can you move it like before?"
Nero flexed his arm, rotating it, making a fist, then opening it again. Drone tapped the forearm and said, "Can you feel anything?"
"Yes," Nero replied. "I can feel everything. Just like before."
Drone tilted his head. "Think it'll come off if we pull?"
Nero raised a brow. "Are you serious?"
"Hey, it's better to be safe than sorry."
Nero sighed. "You're not wrong. But still…"
Drone grabbed Nero's left forearm and pulled—hard. Nothing happened.
"Okay," Drone said, letting go. "We don't have to worry about it falling off."
He leaned in again, inspecting the reconnect point. "It really did become like normal?"
Nero, still shaken, muttered, "Who am I? Am I even human? How is any of this possible?"
Drone looked at him seriously. "I don't know. But I do know that you're a good person."
Then he patted Nero on the back and added, "Come on. We still need to go scouting."
Nero stared at him. "Are you being serious right now? You want me to go scouting after all this?"
"Dead serious. If I leave you alone here, who knows what kind of spiral you'll go into. Plus, some fresh air might help clear your head."
Nero hesitated… then nodded. "Alright."
But as he turned to grab his bag, he paused. "By the way—why the hell did you put a guillotine blade in there?"
Drone scratched the back of his head with an awkward grin. "Ah… about that. I'll show you."
He opened the left room's door properly this time.
Inside was a cramped but well-organized armory—rows of guns, blades, and gear lined the walls. The floor where the trap had sprung was now sealed, but the mechanism was still faintly visible.
"This is the town's armory," Drone said. Then he glanced at the trap. "The blade was a little security system. You know… for intruders."
Nero stared at him, deadpan. "And you forgot which room it was in?"
Drone laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry about that."
"That thing could've killed someone."
"That's the point," Drone said, smirking.
Nero stood there, stunned.
Drone shut the door and clapped his hands. "I'll reset the trap later. Let's go scouting."
He grabbed the spare backpack, stuffed it with essentials, and the two of them stepped out into the trees—heading for the forest.