Black, now living with the students and their families in a makeshift settlement, was a silent enigma. His powers, however, began to manifest. Subtly at first. A dropped heavy crate levitated briefly before hitting the ground. A minor fall leaving no scratch. The students, perplexed, noticed something remarkable: he felt no pain from injuries. A cut, a bruise, even a nasty gash – nothing.
This realization, in a world where every injury was a threat, sparked a desperate idea. Money, resources, new tech – they needed it all. There was a way. They took him to the underground fighting rings.
In the grimy, roaring pits, Black became a legend. He was hesitant at first, confused by the violence. But as punches rained down, as blades scraped against his impervious skin, a raw, instinctive power took over. He was an immovable object. Opponent after opponent fell, battered and broken, while Black stood untouched, unfeeling. The crowds, a mix of desperate survivors and bloodthirsty thrill-seekers, roared a new name: The Black Zombie.
The money flowed. His friends acquired precious tech – advanced water purifiers, a more powerful solar array, even parts for a salvaged drone to scout the hazardous wastes. They celebrated, oblivious to the deeper implications. Each victory, each roar of the crowd, sent out an energy signature, a beacon.
The Chronos Syndicate, their sensors constantly scanning for anomalies, felt it. A spike. An echo of the very alien energy they sought to control. The legends of the "Black Zombie" reached their cold, calculating ears, confirming their suspicions.
One night, the air in the fighting pit grew heavy. A monstrous figure lumbered into the arena. Skin like cracked obsidian, glowing red eyes, a hulking mass of twisted muscle – it was Abyss. One of the "failed experiments" from centuries ago, reanimated, a grotesque echo of the horrors Dr. Orion had inflicted. Abyss was independent, driven by fragmented, primal rage.
The moment Black and Abyss locked eyes, a jolt of recognition tore through Black. Not a memory, not yet, but a feeling. Pain, sterile rooms, the hum of ancient machines. For Abyss, it was a primal acknowledgment of a kindred, yet "perfected" creation.
The fight was a brutal, shocking display of superhuman force. For the first time, Black felt challenged. Abyss possessed a horrifying resilience, a twisted strength that mirrored his own. Every blow was a shockwave. Black had to do more than just endure; he had to react. In that desperate struggle, his dormant powers surged. A flicker of telekinesis sent Abyss sprawling. An unconscious burst of electromagnetic shockwave erupted, sending a terrifying pulse throughout the arena, knocking back spectators, frying outdated tech.
This powerful electromagnetic shockwave, a raw surge of his alien energy, was a literal beacon. It gave up his precise location, his unique energy signature, directly to the Chronos Syndicate. They now had confirmation. The "Black Zombie" was not merely powerful; he was their past, their future.
The Syndicate moved swiftly. They sent their first Bounty Hunter. It was one of the reanimated failed experiments, but this one was different from Abyss. This one was a cold, calculating hunter, augmented with Chronos tech, utterly subservient to their will. It was the first of five high-ranking bounty hunters, each designed to capture or eliminate Black.
The hunt was on. Black, still grappling with the horrifying, fragmented memories triggered by Abyss, now faced an immediate, deadly threat. He had woken from one prison only to find himself in a new, far deadlier one. His powers were growing, but so too were the dangers, and the forces of his forgotten past were closing in.