I should've stayed in bed.
That's what I kept thinking while sprinting through the floating market of Scrap Sector 9 with a half-eaten burrito in one hand and three bounty drones in hot pursuit.
"STOP! UNAUTHORIZED LUNCH ACQUISITION!" one of the drones screeched in its wonderfully obnoxious corporate voice.
I flipped it off mid-run.
"IT WAS HALF-OFF!" I yelled. "I THOUGHT THAT MEANT HALF-FREE!"
The drone's plasma cannons charged in response. Great. My sense of humor was gonna get me vaporized. Again.
I dove under a stall selling illegal toaster mods, rolled over a stack of plasma batteries (that may or may not have exploded on contact), and finally threw myself into an open trash chute that read:
"WARNING: COSMIC WASTE ONLY."
Perfect. My whole life was basically cosmic waste.
I tumbled for a solid thirty seconds before landing spine-first on something hard, cold, and vaguely skull-shaped. A dull clunk echoed through the darkness.
"Ughhh… my everything," I groaned.
Then I looked up.
That's when I saw it.
Floating above me, humming with ancient power and absolutely zero chill… was a perfect black sphere etched with glowing, shifting symbols. They moved like they were laughing at me.
I blinked. "Okay. Either I hit my head, or I just found an evil magic 8-ball."
The orb pulsed.
"Host identified," it said, in a voice that sounded like someone merged a haunted AI with a game show announcer.
I pointed at myself. "Host? Me? No thanks. I don't even commit to shampoo brands."
"Compatibility: 17%."
"Seventeen?! That's a failing grade!"
"Bond accepted. Welcome to Ashen Core 7 — HALF-DEAD LAUGHTER."
Before I could scream or sue someone, the orb launched itself into my chest like a ghost trying to borrow my ribs.
Everything exploded.
I woke up in a crater with glowing veins running down my arms, half-naked, and hearing a voice in my head that would not shut up.
"Yo, buddy. You awake? You blacked out harder than my sense of morality."
I stared up at the sky, blinking past the sparks dancing across my vision. "...Who the hell are you?"
"The greatest mistake you'll ever make. But also your new best friend. We're soul-bound now. Kinda like a space marriage, but without the tax benefits."
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"Name's Half-Dead Laughter, by the way. Core Class: Joke-Based Annihilation. Weapon Type: Everything. Goal: Chaos, comedy, and kicking existential butt."
"What—WHAT?!"
I looked down at myself. My jacket was gone. My chest was wrapped in flickering circuit-like tattoos. One hand looked normal, the other had turned into a high-tech mic with a speaker cannon embedded in my palm.
Oh, and my reflection in the broken chrome showed I now had one glowing white eye.
"What the hell did you do to me?!"
"Improved you! Now you're statistically 36% cooler and 400% more explosive. Quick question: how do you feel about punching reality in the face?"
Before I could say no thank you, sir, a deafening alarm blared above me.
"UNAUTHORIZED ASHEN CORE DETECTED.""THREAT LEVEL: UNFUNNY.""DEPLOYING SANCTION DRONES."
Oh great.
"They're gonna try to kill you now," Half-Dead Laughter said casually. "This is where the tutorial ends."
I got to my feet.
Three drones dropped from the sky, each one the size of a small car and armed with plasma blades the size of surfboards.
I cracked my neck. My speaker-arm hummed. My core flared.
I grinned.
"Alright... Let's see what a joke can really do."