The world was a blur of pain and light. Kaen Vexis's eyelids twitched, half-opening, and the first thing he felt was a sharp prick in his arm. A glowing purple liquid flowed through a tube, dripping from a syringe held by a blurry figure. The air reeked of chemicals and rusted metal, burning his throat like he'd just swallowed a cocktail of gasoline and rotten lemons.
"…Subject stable… pure Shimmer… unprecedented adaptability…"
The words were a distant murmur, like someone talking underwater.
Kaen tried to move, but his body felt like a rock chained to a sticky dream. His vision clouded, and the hunched figure—a man with a scarred face and a bald head—leaned over him, adjusting something that made the purple liquid flow faster.
"…Wh…at?" His voice came out weak, monotone, like a robot trying to imitate a bored human.
The man didn't answer, just scribbled something in a notebook that looked like it had survived an apocalypse. Kaen's mind fractured, images flashing like a badly edited montage: a wet street, a slippery banana peel, a dull thud that hurt down to his bones. Then, needles, vials, pain that burned through his veins like someone decided to cook his blood. His eyes closed, and the world shut off like a broken screen.
He woke again—he didn't know how much later. The stretcher beneath his back was still cold, but the lab had fallen silent. The vials bubbled faintly, as if they were whispering conspiracies. The hunched figure was gone, leaving only the echo of his footsteps in Kaen's head. He sat up, swaying, his skull throbbing like someone was using his brain as a drum. He touched his face, stopping at his mouth when he felt prominent fangs—like they were made to tear through meat and bone in a single bite.
"…This isn't right," he murmured, his voice flat as an ironing board.
He looked at himself in a shard of broken glass on the floor. Silver-white hair, messy like a hurricane had passed through his skull. Violet eyes with slit pupils, glowing like they had their own power source. Pale, almost translucent skin that shimmered under the neon lights filtering through a broken window. His body was… perfect. Athletic, defined, like someone had sculpted a statue and then decided it needed more charisma. This wasn't him. Not the guy who ate instant ramen and tripped over his own feet.
He stood up, his movements precise but weird—like his body was on autopilot while his brain was still updating. The rusted door at the back of the lab was ajar, creaking like it was offended. Kaen walked out without thinking, and the world hit him like a chaos-wrapped hammer.
Zaun was a glorious mess. The air smelled like smoke, sweat, and something vaguely metallic—like the city was alive and bleeding. Neon lights flickered in narrow alleys, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own. People were shouting, laughing, arguing. A guy with a mechanical arm was yelling at an old lady brandishing a frying pan like it was Excalibur. At the corner, a food stand sizzled, selling something that looked like meat but probably wasn't.
Kaen blinked, his face expressionless while his brain tried to process the madness. "This looks like a post-apocalyptic anime, but with a higher budget," he muttered, voice monotone, contrasting the manic energy around him.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of a worn jacket he didn't remember putting on—and found… nothing. No coins, no gum, not even a decent piece of lint. "Great. I wake up in a model's body and I'm still poorer than a sewer rat."
He wandered aimlessly, dodging a group of kids running around with makeshift gas masks. His violet eyes scanned everything, catching details his brain hadn't processed yet: pipes leaking green goo, torn posters advertising "Shimmer: The Future of Zaun!", a cat-sized rat that looked at him with disdain before slipping away.
His stomach growled, reminding him that even if his body was some experimental masterpiece, it still needed food. He stopped in front of the food stand, where a man in a stained apron was frying something that smelled suspiciously good. Kaen stepped closer, his face as unreadable as a concrete wall.
"How much for that?" he asked, pointing at a steaming skewer.
"Five gears," the vendor grunted, not even looking at him.
Kaen checked his pockets again, as if money might've magically appeared. Nothing. He sighed, voice as flat as ever. "Hey, man, don't you think my face is payment enough? Look at these eyes. Pure art."
The vendor looked at him, blinked, then let out a laugh that sounded like a rusted engine. "Go scam someone else, kid!"
Kaen didn't flinch. He slowly turned his head toward the guy at the next table—a burly man with a scar across his face. "Hey, buddy," he said, voice monotone but filled with absurd confidence. "Wanna treat me? I promise to dedicate a song to you on my bass… once I get one."
The man stared at him, stunned, like he couldn't believe the audacity. Then, surprisingly, he laughed and shoved a skewer his way. "You've got guts, kid. Eat it before I change my mind."
Kaen took the skewer with a theatrical flourish, like he'd just won an Oscar. "You're an unsung hero," he said, his face still blank as he took a bite. The meat—whatever it was—tasted like fried glory.
As he chewed, he felt a tingle on the back of his neck, like someone was watching. He turned his head, but saw nothing but shadows and neon glows. Unbeknownst to him, on a nearby rooftop, a slender figure with blue pigtails and glowing eyes was watching—a spark of curiosity and danger in her gaze. Kaen didn't pay it any mind. He just shrugged and kept eating, unaware of the chaos that look promised.
He wandered Zaun for hours, his mind a swirl of questions and out-of-place memes. Who was he now? Why did he have demon fangs and a body like a video game character? And seriously, where the hell was the tutorial?
He remembered the lab and the papers he saw on the desk before leaving. There had been scribbles in a notebook, but in his daze, he'd just grabbed a bunch of loose pages and stuffed them into his jacket. He sat down in an alley, leaning against a pipe leaking something sticky, and pulled them out.
They were a mess—diagrams of human bodies with unreadable notes, chemical formulas straight out of a nightmare, and words like "Shimmer," "adaptability," and "ideal prototype" scrawled over and over. One phrase stood out, written in red: "Subject K: Final phase viability confirmed."
Kaen frowned—or at least tried to. His face was still a blank mask. "Subject K, huh? Sounds like I'm the star of some insane experiment. How cliché."
He tucked the papers away and stood up, determined to find answers. If this Singed guy (the name was scribbled in the corner of the pages) had created him, then he had to know what the hell was going on. But first, Kaen needed a plan. Or something vaguely resembling one.
"Step one: find Singed. Step two: get him to explain everything without stabbing me again. Step three: buy an electric bass. Priorities, obviously," he muttered, his monotone voice trailing into the chaotic streets of Zaun.
The night market was in full swing, a frenzy of lights, shouting, and smells that could overwhelm anyone. But Kaen moved with absurd calm, dodging pickpockets and vendors with catlike grace. At one stall, he saw a beat-up electric bass with rusty strings and peeling paint. His violet eyes lit up like he'd found treasure.
"How much?" he asked the vendor—a guy with welding goggles and a mustache that looked sentient.
"Twenty gears," the man replied, crossing his arms.
Kaen checked his pockets for the millionth time. Nothing. "Hey, how about a trade? I'll give you… my eternal gratitude and a free performance once I'm famous."
The vendor stared at him like he wanted to hit him with the bass. "Get lost, idiot!"
Kaen sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his chest like he'd been mortally wounded. "The world isn't ready for my genius," he said, voice flat but gestures exaggerated. He turned to leave—but not before noticing he was being followed. Again. That feeling of being watched hadn't left him.
In a dark alley, he stopped and turned, his face expressionless but his eyes glowing with a feline glint. "Hey, whoever you are, come out. I don't bite… well, maybe a little."
Silence. Then, a soft crunch—someone stepping on metal. A low, almost childlike laugh echoed from the shadows. "White Hair, huh? You're weird. I like it."
Kaen tilted his head, still blank-faced. "Thanks, I guess. And you are…?"
The figure stepped into the light—a thin girl with blue pigtails and a belt full of grenades. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and madness. Jinx grinned, showing her teeth. "Just someone passing by. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Kaen stared at her, brain processing the situation at hangover-snail speed. "Looking for answers. And a bass. But mostly answers. You know a guy named Singed? Crazy scientist face, smells like chemicals and bad choices."
Jinx laughed—a sound that was half amusement, half threat. "Oh, Singed. Everybody knows Singed. But he's not the kind of guy you find. He finds you."
Kaen blinked, face neutral but mind screaming what kind of cryptic nonsense is that? "Great. Sounds like a headache. Got any advice for a poor lost soul like me?"
Jinx stepped closer, invading his personal space like shame didn't exist. She smelled like gunpowder and burnt candy. "Advice: don't trust anyone. Not even me." Then she backed off, grinning like she'd just told a joke. "See you around, White Hair. Don't die too soon, okay?"
And just like that, she vanished into the shadows, leaving Kaen alone in the alley. He stood there, staring at the spot where she'd been, his face still unreadable. "Intense girl," he muttered. "I like her energy. Very… gremlin."
He shook his head and kept walking, his steps echoing on the damp pavement. Zaun was a puzzle, and he was a piece that didn't fit anywhere. But if there was one thing he'd learned in his past life—what little he remembered of it—it was that chaos always brings opportunity.
And Kaen Vexis, with his blank face and monotone voice, was ready to seize them all.
Though first, he really needed to find something to eat. Again.