With my long, chestnut-parted hair resembling the barren wastelands that mirrored a terrifying desolation, my gaze was no different.
I was walking across a dessert, my eyes more despondent than the innumerable grains of sand scattered beneath my feet.
Running from my temples down to the ends of my jawline were two black lines marking my face, these were my cyberware implants. A technological anomaly etched into my flesh, far more bizarre than the common ones you'd see advertised online or installed in the backroom of some neural mechanic shop.
Because this? This came from no company.
No serial number. No warranty. No unwanted interference.
Though… while the power kept me alive in Bawake, I couldn't shake off the bizarre, mind-bending sensation that something ancient was peering through a hole in time, watching me.
I'm a lost guy, and my name is Vett Yellip, the most discontented soul in the known cosmos.
Speaking of my super unique and powerful implant, it's not really a piece of metal. At least, I don't think so.
And that, in part, is why I found myself stranded in a desert.
My cybernetic implant wasn't just metal, nor any piece of Earth's material...
It was a system of magic.
This, along with everything that followed, was the reason I wasn't living the ordinary life once promised by the old modern world.
It all began because of Bawake. A catastrophic event that destroyed nearly every Earth society, including mine in America.
The year was 2052 when it happened.
Bawake—Earth's first known cybernetic dystopia. It marked the beginning of an era so woeful that even I, a self-aware pessimist, found myself utterly unprepared for its arrival.
Optimism had always evaded me, especially after my eighteenth birthday. Enlisting into America's workforce snuffed out whatever remaining spark I had for life's meaning. I carry an odd name—a strange mind, and perhaps, an even stranger fate.
Before Bawake, I was a miserable office worker. Run of the mill pretty-boy of the office
I didn't love it. Didn't hate it either.
But bawake?
I… cherished it like it was my lifeforce.
Bane of Society. Death Dread. Terror Bringer.
Names, titles, there were many. Countless attempts to label this catastrophic apocalypse.
Yet in this precise moment, only one descriptor truly captures the Earth's wretched state.
"Bawake, chaos's Incarnate."
With Earth's death tolls in the billions and fear now as instinctual as breath, the morally upstanding civilians who did survive…
Well, let's just say flexibility became their most sacred virtue.
Then there I was. My skinny tall height at (6,3,) but also lean muscular frame strode with s confidence so calmly, you'd think he was at peace...
But in this case, a part of him had completely given up on escaping that dune covered landscape.
While my hair was probably my third-best feature, I'd adorned myself with a few aesthetic enhancements. Iconic touches meant to provoke, not just impress. My lips were coated in a deep matte black lipstick, bold and unwavering, the texture of natural chaps just barely peeking through the sleek pigment.
It wasn't that I was "feminine" in the way some use the word, laced with derision and disdain.
No, society's view of femininity, as I've come to understand, isn't tethered to gender at all. It's a variety of traits, found solely on the more influnced side of humanity.
Man woman? More like organs and organs.
Divisions like these breaking were merely the beginning of Earth's change.
As for my spectacular hair, I was rocking long, straight, parted brown hair that flowed down to my lower back—yet never once did it veil the sharp chill of my cold, egocentric visage. Pairing with my brown eyes, my face was... beautifully calm-like.
The attire I wore was designer, something I'd bought before Bawake turned the world inside out.
I wore a forest-green Chanel tee, with a bold white star shape at its center. Inside the star was 'Chanel' printed, like a reminder of forgotten luxury. Along with it, I had on black, baggy Chrome Hearts cargo pants. They swayed with every step, effortlessly complementing the matching dark Vans shoes that completed the look.
It was real style, and cinched at the side of my waist draped a black Prada belt.
As I walked aimlessly, searching for any trace of humanity that could help me escape this desert, I heard it again. The OCIS.
Yes, the system. And he's an expressive one, really good guy. Over the course of our time in Bawake, I'd come to see him as one of my greatest companions. Or I guess... my only one now.
Wandering Earth, searching for people who were already dead, was a tedious process.
Whether he was real or not didn't matter much to me. He was there, and that was all I cared about.
"I know this might breach the system's program, but your outfit is truly exceptional," said the gravelly male voice speaking in my mind.
Responding as if this was a normal occurrence, I replied to him.
"I know. Cost me a pretty penny also. Look... I know I've asked this a million times, but where the hell am I? How do I leave this place...? It's been like two weeks bro." I replied, my voide raspy and deep.
Dreading each step, all I longed for was to escape back to my apocalyptic world. At least there, amidst the chaos, there was food, nature, and even fleeting distractions to keep the mind occupied.
But here? This place has nothing.
"You know I can't tell you. A puzzle would be no trick if it couldn't be solved." Said the system, where I, rolled my eyes while responding.
"Yeah yeah, the worlds completely fucked. But lucky for me, I can handle it."
Thinking back on it, the wording could've been better.
Walking through this windless desert, my eyes blasted with a despair so keen, even the underworld pitied and feared my awareness.
Sometimes, when I would look down, I saw them.
Glaring at me as if I was some common enemy.
The weather in Bawake was bizarre, to say the least. The air still carried oxygen—fifteen percent by volume, but it was thin, difficult to breathe for the unimplanted.
Climate change had slaughtered over half of Earth's population within thirty days of Bawake. Anyone without an implant died from lack of oxygen and scorching heat, a few million being the exception.
It wasn't that breathing was impossible, it was just painfully inefficient. The heat, though—that's what killed most. The news had been grim at the fall of America's infrastructure:
"In a week's time, if your body can't self-regulate with the help of implants, the climate change will kill you. Heat death in summer, ice age in winter." A scientist once said on an emergency US broadcast as Bawke surfaced.
Despite this, though…
I, a lean muscular, but cant forget stylish twenty three year old, sauntered through 200 degree temperatures as if I was basking in a tropical summer afternoon.
But don't be fooled. I wasn't some indomitable human free of suffering.
The system took care of the heat so well, it felt no different than a 70 degree weather. Neuritic technologic implants, pioneered and distributed by the wealthiest of compaines had unlocked a nearly limitless amount of possibilities for humanity's evolution.
As such, climate change struck Earth due to Bawake. So, to combat the dangers of climate change, each cyberware unit encased its host in a full-body mesh of Ceramic Fiber, an invisible, transparent adaptive armor shielding every inch of the human body, completely preventing and deflecting heat while keeping your body hot enough to operate. Then, integrated cooling systems ensured that, instead of feeling like they were burning alive, users experienced the comfort of a perfectly air-conditioned room. Of course, settings were customizable. Personally, I dialed mine to 80 degrees. I liked to feel the warmth—like it was still an earthly summer somewhere. Obviously, my system could do that, and more.
The sun blazed mercilessly overhead.
On another note... my eyes, sunken and furious, told the truth of my present suffering.
While others died from exposure, heatstroke, thirst and whatever human ending problem existed, I marched on healthy as can be.
My cyberware kept me alive. Hydrated. Awake.
But, this "cyberware," was not typical or man made.
It was a gift… a talent given from the gods.
Gods, not humans. Whoever granted me this power couldn't have been born of Earth. They had to be superior, sentient beings from an entirely different era… or dimension.
I'd never been touched by a surgeon's scalpel, never laid on a lab table for the implanting process...
Yet somehow, I wielded a hyper-advanced implant that no scientist had ever crafted.
No... this technology was something far more ancient. A mystical system infused into the very being of my neural fabric. It allowed me to elevate and enhance my physicality and cognitive abilities at will. But that wasn't even the full extent of the OCIS. It had a questline, rewards, and functions that could be only described as reality warping.
Involuntary Teleportion, which is how I ended up in this dessert, was thanks to the OCIS moving me through space and time like it was a walk in the park.
When Bawake arrived—when the implants ravaged our society, it wasn't aliens who destroyed the world's government.
It was us, the humans.
We crammed circuitry into our skulls to become superior beings. And in doing so, awoke something dark.
A new age emerged...
One of techno-magic.
But my cyberware? Mine was unlike the rest.
I, Vett Yellip, was the wielder of the Original Cyber Implant System.
The OCIS did not reside on any controlled network, rather, the connection was obscured somewhere in the confines of the realms.
And since it kept me alive when Bawake hit, I owe my very existence to it. The OCIS didn't just appear. It chose me. A few weeks before I was teleported in that sun-scorched wasteland, it awakened and with the power of magic, gave me an otherwordly implant. I was on death's doorstep... and... it pulled me back, giving me an implant of priceless value.
Like, I mean that legitimately. I'm not even sure how much it would cost, the thing's hyper-advanced. The system wasn't something I downloaded after; it was pre-installed, like it was predestined to be apart of the implant from the very beginning.
I laughed bitterly as I wandered through the dunes, angry at the place I've been stuck in for two weeks now. I ran for the first few days but gave up, ran again, and gave up. The cycle was a constant.
Speaking of the OCIS.
Inside its magical interface, which materializes out of nowhere, there's a shop, an inventory, a stats page, and an assistant who feels more like a real companion than just an AI. There's more hidden beneath the surface, but I'm only level 15... not quite there yet. It's all packed into three neat tabs on a small virtual window:
I summoned the system, flicking my wrist to force the OCIS's main menu to open. By now, I'd gotten the hang of it, opening and closing it at will, letting me access it only when absolutely necessary.
[Inventory] [OCIS Shop] [Questline] - Then, right beside it was a locked blacked out option: [Locked] - [TBC upon leveling up.]
I shook my head at my level and no update on it. I checked daily. Multiple times a day.
How the heck was I supposed to level up in this place?!
The system had another interface which looked the same but a bit larger. This was the automatic message feature. It's emerald-themed floating display that would appear in front of me, lingering only long enough for my brain to process the information before it vanished into thin air again.
[Water Supply Running Low. Food supply empty. You have approximately one week left to live as things stand.]
"A week, huh...?" I muttered, reading the message again as the emerald window flickered out of existence. "The algorithm says I need food or I'll just collapse... soon. Three weeks without a meal, and I'm still walking. How is that even possible?"
I let out a slow, deliberate breath, my gaze fixed on the grains of sand beneath my boots. "Just a regular man," I murmured to myself, the words tasting like rust on my tongue.
And then, without warning, my head snapped upward. My lips curled, a sharp, vicious smile twisting across my face.
"Mundane to the core."
I felt the madness inside me stir, and before I could stop it, the words exploded from my chest. My voice was raw with desperation, yet oddly determined. "Earth… I swear… ONE DAY, I'LL FIND HIM THAT FAR AWAY STAR CALLED PURPOSE! NO MATTER HOW MANY WORLDS I HAVE TO TRAVEL OR HOW MANY TIMES I HAVE TO ADVANCE, I WILL SEE YOU ONE OF THESE DAYS!"
But then, the exstacy faded, replaced by something darker... a group of creatures.
"Earth… you failed me gloriously. And somehow, I'm… grateful."
It was a stampede, a group of dozens rushhing with frantic energy, a chorus of unhinged voices, and a deamnor of raw desperation. It was the unmistakable, savage cry of humans on the edge, people molded between survival and madness, driven by the primal need to feed or to destroy.
Each scream seemed to insult the duned landscape, reverberating off the empty horizon, as if they were mocking the nothingness around us.
These were no ordinary screams, they were the chaotic hums of the broken.
The footsteps grew louder, and the screams sharper as they ran over the sand, drawing closer with every passing second. I still couldn't see them, but I knew what they were—what they wanted. I had encountered their kind before, back when Florida had fallen into mayhem.
Raiders.
Desperate scavengers. Known either as Cyber Raiders.
Driven by nothing more than hunger and lunacity, they resembled an intelligent pack of wolves, now rushing toward me like a tidal wave, hoping to claim whatever was left of me.
They weren't going to stop. Not until they aquired what they came here for.