Okay, so let's start my story like a classic meet-and-greet—with names.
My name is Jaxine Evans. My parents decided to get creative and mash their names together—Jackson and Maxine, by the way—and ended up with Jaxine. Honestly, I don't hate it. It definitely beats my older sister's name, Jacqueline. (No offense to any Jacquelines reading this—I just think the name is a bit overused.)
I was—or am, I guess—19 years old. I say "was" because I'm pretty sure I died. And I'm almost certain it was murder. But we'll get to that later. We're still doing introductions.
Let's see… I'm the middle child in the family. My older sister, Jacqueline, is four years older than me, and then there's my older twin brother, Jaxon. (Yeah, I know—my parents and their naming sense.) I also have two younger brothers: Maxwell, who's 10, and Maximilian, who just turned 4 this autumn.
I love chocolate cake and strawberries dipped in dark chocolate (preferably together). I like watching anime in my free time—usually while cuddled up in bed under the blankets with my black Maine Coon, Spade. He's such a cutie.
My days were like any other college student's. I was studying computer science and cybersecurity at Stanford University. I had originally wanted to go to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), but my parents wanted me to attend the same college they did—plus, my older sister went there too. (They paid for my first year, so that was cool.)
Soooo, in retaliation (teenage style) for not being able to go to the college I actually wanted, I got tattoos. Yup. Some teens in their rebellious stage drink or smoke—me? I got tattoos.
Here's a pic of meee~ Aren't I cute? I think the tats add a nice contrast to my glasses (or, as my twin brother Jaxon calls them, "my Harry Potter glasses." Joke's on him—Harry Potter was awesome!).
*
Sigh... I guess this is a good time for the "later" part. So, do you remember when I said I was pretty sure I died? That it was probably murder? Well, you see, the week leading up to my untimely demise, I had gotten a job offer to hack into a classified data vault tied to an off-the-books government project. I know, I know—red flags all over the place. But the pay was insane, the encryption looked like a challenge, and... I guess part of me was bored. Or maybe I just wanted to prove I could do it. (BTW, I totally did! And it only took 4 hours!)
Now I can just imagine you're thinking, "Oh, she must not have been completely successful—she probably died because of the government she hacked, or maybe even the people who hired her." Well... eh, you wouldn't be exactly wrong. But you wouldn't be right either.
You see, during that same week, my parents were having their own breakthroughs in their projects.
My dad is the CEO of a billionaire tech conglomerate. That same week, he had partnered with the world's top AI network to develop the most advanced biochip known to man. Saying the reactions were "mixed" would be a massive understatement. Fanatics who feared a future straight out of The Matrix started rioting the moment the news went public.
Again, I can already imagine you thinking, "What does that have to do with your supposed death?" Well, it turns out I shared a class with one of those fanatics. Who knew Stanford allowed open protest? I'll admit, it was weird seeing a crowd with signs and chants outside my campus apartment window. I'm not saying that was the cause of my death—I'm just saying it could be.
For all I know, it might've had something to do with my mom—a renowned biological scientist who had recently cracked the code on transferring a living brain into a new body after death. After years of work, she finally had a breakthrough.
She even gave an interview on one of the most-watched late-night talk shows in America. During it, she casually mentioned that I occasionally helped her out during my downtime.
By "helping," she must have meant the few hours I spent running simulations, cleaning up her messy code, and acting as her unpaid lab assistant whenever her team hit a wall and needed a fresh set of eyes. Although it annoyed me, I wouldn't really consider that helping all that much. But apparently, whoever killed me must have thought otherwise. Again, I'm not saying this was the cause—or even the reason—behind my death. I'm just saying it could have been.
Now on to the part where I tell you the how and why I'm pretty sure I died. Let's start with the how.
So… I don't know how else to say this gently. I mean, I could explain what led up to it—what I was doing that day—but… I'm getting bored with this introduction. (Yes, I still think this counts as an introduction. First chapters always are. Ignore that last part. No testing the wall today.)
So I'm just going to throw it out there and say it: I was kidnapped. (Or is it teen-napped? Hmm…)
Anyway, I was kidnapped from my own comfy, warm bed that Saturday night—drugged and knocked out for my captor's convenience. I woke up like all captives do: groggy, confused, and desperate to know where the heck I was. Sadly for me, they were smart enough to cover my mouth with a cloth (that I really hope was clean), so no questions for them. Jerks.
After what felt like hours of sitting in a very clinical white room that reeked of bleach and… well, medical-ly stuff. I don't know how else to describe it—it just gave off hospital vibes, you know? (Whoever owned the place had some seriously severe OCD.) People in lab coats came in and told me their goal was to create the very first cyborg—that they paid handsomely for perfect candidates to undergo the procedure—and that I was one of them.
You know what I would've said to that (if I'd been able to talk, that is)?
Count me the fudge in! That sounded like the best thing ever!
Yup, I was all for becoming a cyborg. Huh? You thought I'd be upset? Nah. I've watched One Punch Man. Genos was the GOAT… after Saitama, of course. Who wouldn't want to be something that cool?!
After they noticed my enthusiasm and complete willingness to cooperate, they removed the cloth from my mouth (it was, in fact, clean—thank the chocolate bunnies) and led me to a high-tech, state-of-the-art laboratory. They placed me inside a containment chamber, hooked me up to various tubes, and fitted a mask over my mouth connected to yet another tube. Then they filled the chamber with an electric teal-colored liquid that glowed faintly.
I remember pain. Lots and lots of pain… and then everything went black.
Each time I came to, they were in the middle of working on me—installing state-of-the-art biotechnology, swapping out organs, upgrading systems. I'm pretty sure they even replaced my heart at one point.
I'm just going to skip all the gory parts and start explaining the why now. You see, after however long I'd been worked on (time kind of blurs when you're a lab project), they had finally finished. All that was left was to install an advanced biochip—the same ones my dad's labs were developing with the AI Network.
Oh, right, forgot to mention—they were also using my mom's method to safely transfer my brain into cryostasis. Yeah… I still don't know how to feel about that.
The moment they placed the biochip into the slot at the back of my neck, something went wrong. Or… was it right? Hmm. All I know is that my mind went dark, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a field full of adorable—but deadly—horned rabbits that shot magic beams at you when all you wanted was to pet them.
Haha, that's right, baby. I got isekai'd! Best. Day. Eveeeeer!
Cough, cough. And that's the end of my introduction. You're all caught up—now sit back and enjoy the epic magic that is my life story.
As for me? I'm gonna head out and pet some more of these adorable unibunnies… even if they do try to vaporize me. Sigh... the price for admiring cuteness.