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.
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 stared at the text, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. "Gene Core? What the hell is a Gene Core?
He shook his head, the logic of a normal person fighting back against the absurdity of the situation. This had to be a dream. A coma-induced fever dream. He reached for his phone, which was still tethered to the charger on his nightstand.
January 1st. 08:14 AM.
The date hit him like a physical blow. He had been out for an entire week. He began scrolling through a literal wall of notifications—missed calls and hundreds of texts from his mother and his best friend, Wyn.
[Dec 25 - Mom]: Primo? Did you feel that? The light... I feel like my skin is on fire. Answer me.
[Dec 26 - Wyn]: Bro, everyone in the dorm has a massive fever. I can't even move. My skin is peeling. Tell me you're seeing this.
[Dec 27 - Mom]: The government just issued an emergency broadcast. Forced quarantine worldwide. Something is changing. Primo, please, just tell me you're okay. I'm stuck here.
As he scrolled further, the tone turned from panic to tragedy. News clips shared by Wyn detailed a horrifying reality: the "Evolutionary Fever" had been lethal. Most people over the age of sixty hadn't survived, and millions of younger people were dying from the same "external pain" Primo had felt.
But the most recent messages were the most terrifying.
[Dec 31 - Wyn]: Don't go outside. It's not just the fever anymore. The strays... the dogs in the park... they've changed. They're savage. I saw something through my window that wasn't a dog anymore. Some places are losing power. If you see this, barricade your door.
Primo looked up. He realized with a jolt of fear that his room was silent. No hum from the refrigerator. The electricity was dead. The only reason his phone was still alive was because it had been soaking up the last of the grid's power before it failed. He checked his signal: one bar, flickering in and out.
The world hadn't just changed; it had broken.
Thump.
Primo froze. The sound came from the hallway, just on the other side of his apartment door. It was followed by a long, wet sound—the sound of something heavy dragging across the floorboards.
Then came the growl.
It was low, vibrating through the wood of the door, a guttural sound that no healthy animal should be able to make. It sounded like a throat full of broken glass and hunger.
Primo's gaze darted to the kitchen knife on the counter, then back to the blue panel. He didn't know what a Gene Core was. But as the scratching started at his door, he realized he was about to find out.