The first thing Primo noticed wasn't the light. It was the smell.
It was a cloying, sour stench—the unmistakable aroma of old, dried sweat and stagnant air. It clung to his skin like a second suit. His eyelids felt as though they had been glued shut with grit, and when he finally forced them open, he didn't see the popcorn-texture ceiling of his studio apartment.
Instead, a soft, translucent blue glow hovered inches from his face.
[System Reconnection Complete]
< x >
"What...?" His voice was a pathetic rasp, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed a handful of dry sand.
Primo bolted upright, a reflex driven by pure confusion. It was a mistake. The world instantly tilted on its axis. A sharp, stinging vertigo spiked behind his eyes, forcing him to clutch his head as his vision swam in nauseating circles.
"Calm down," he hissed to himself, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
As his eyes adjusted, the familiar sight of his room returned: the stack of unread books, the discarded hoodie on the chair, the dusty desk. Everything was exactly where it should be. Except for the floating window.
He reached out, his hand trembling. His fingers passed straight through the glowing text, ripples forming in the light like a stone dropped in a digital pond. It was a hologram.
"Am I still dreaming?"
He focused on the small 'x' under the text. As his finger touched the place where the button sat, the window vanished with a faint ping, only to be replaced by another.
[Gene Analysis Complete]
Before he could even process the words, a violent cramp twisted his stomach. It wasn't just hunger; it was a hollow, echoing void that felt like his body was starting to consume itself.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, and Primo's heart skipped a beat.
January 1st.
"New Year?" he whispered, staring at the date. "That's... that's impossible."
The last thing he remembered was Christmas Eve. He had been getting ready for bed when a pulse of emerald light had swept through the walls—a silent, ghostly wave that ignored every physical barrier. He remembered the chaos on social media for those few minutes—reports of the "Green Wall" hitting every continent simultaneously. Then, as he'd tried to text his mother, a white-hot agony had erupted in his nerves, and the world had gone black.
He had been out for seven days.
Hunger overrode curiosity. Primo swung his legs off the bed, but his muscles felt like wet paper. He collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Grabbing the edge of the dresser, he hauled himself up and stumbled toward the kitchen, his gait heavy and uncoordinated.
He didn't have the strength to cook. He ripped open a box of energy bars with his teeth, devouring two of them before the kettle had even started to hum. He followed it with a tin of cold tuna and a bowl of instant noodles, eating with a desperate, animalistic focus. Only after his stomach stopped screaming did he lean back against the counter, gasping as the calories hit his bloodstream.
The blue window was still there, floating patiently in his peripheral vision.
"Status," he muttered. "It's like a game."
He tapped the
[Profile: Primo Adam
Level: 1
Race: Human
Stamina: 8 (-3)
Strength: 7 (-2)
Defense: 3
Agility: 7 (-3)
Will: 10 (-1)
Skill(s):
Primo stared at the numbers. He played enough RPGs to know that 10 was likely the average for a healthy adult, although this is just his speculation as there's no way to confirm it. But his eyes kept drifting to the bottom of the list.
"S?"
In every game he'd ever played, S was high skill rank. With a shaking finger, he tapped the skill name. A sub-menu flickered into existence.
[Controlled Assimilation
Rank: S (Passive)
The user can fully assimilate the properties and essence of any Gene Core consumed without altering the user's base race.]
Primo frowned, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
"Gene Core?" he muttered. "What the hell is a Gene Core?"
The term sounded like something out of a low-budget sci-fi movie. Was it a battery? A piece of technology? An organ? The description was maddeningly vague.
The system told him he could "assimilate" these things without changing his race, which was even more confusing. Why would eating something change his race in the first place?
He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The street below was eerily still. No cars moved. No neighbors were walking their dogs. The world felt like a staged set where the actors had all walked off.
Primo gripped the windowsill, his knuckles turning white. He didn't know what a Gene Core was, and he didn't know why he had been asleep for a week. But as he looked at the "Rank S" glowing in his vision, a cold realization settled in his chest.
Whatever a Gene Core was, he was going to have to find one to survive.