Vielza Coupdecarp sat shirtless on the cold slab of a surgical table, the dim light above him flickering like a dying star. His breath came slow and steady, though his nerves coiled like a snake about to strike.
His eyes flicked to the figure working silently across the room—thin, sharp, surgical. A man in a stained coat with hands too steady and eyes too calm.
The doctor.
No name, no ID, just "the doctor." Everyone in Dazakstan knew him. Many resented him, because everyone owed a debt to him.
The scanner hovered over his chest again, humming. A cracked ring of bone and bio-metal lit up on the screen beside him—his Exo core, splintered like a dried-out shell.
"This thing's barely holding together," the doctor muttered. "How many painkillers are you on? You should be screaming in pain."
"I've got enough, don't try and sell me more debt." Viel chuckled, but the doctor's condescending gaze made his voice retract into a mumble.
"It's about to get real messy in here. I should've brought thicker gloves." The doctor sighed, pulling his blue gloves further onto his hands.
Viel smirked, forcing a grin. "Sounds like a party."
The doctor didn't even glance at him. "No. Your life is on the line here. I can fix you, but it definately won't be cheap. Both your body and your wallet are going to have to pay the price."
Silence followed.
Viel flexed his fingers, trying not to shake. "So, can you fix it or not?"
"I can," the doctor said, lifting a needle filled with black-gold liquid. "But I won't say you'll survive if I do. Whether you live or die, your credits will be mine. That's all that matters to me."
Viel laughed. He couldn't help it—dry, raspy, hollow.
"You think I've got credits, doc? I live in a goddamn storage closet above a brothel. I'm the poorest bounty hunter in all of Dazakstan!"
The doctor turned.
For a second, he smiled. Just a twitch of the lips.
Then the needle stabbed into Viel's neck.
The last thing Viel saw was the light shattering into fractals—like oil on water—and the whisper, soft and amused:
"Then let's see if you live long enough to be in my debt."
Blurriness, pain.
Then noise.
Then... brightness. The blinding, searing kind.
Viel gasped awake, lungs aching like he hadn't breathed in hours. He was drenched in some kind of bio-gel, stuck to the table by wires and patches. His skull throbbed like it had been cracked open and stapled back together.
He blinked. The light was too sharp. The walls too clear.
And he could hear—everything. The whir of the fans. The buzz of the screen. The rhythmic, precise heartbeat of the doctor across the room.
"You're awake. Good. That means the chip took."
Viel sat up too fast. His vision doubled. Something screamed behind his eyes.
"W-What... what chip?"
The doctor turned slowly. Calm. Clean. Holding a surgical scalpel like a pen.
"Military-grade cerebral implant. A modification designed for Exo commandos. Outlawed. Dangerous. Beautiful."
Viel's mouth went dry. His fingers clawed at the side of his scalp.
"You put that in my head?! A military grade chip? Is my brain gonna explode?"
"Yes, perhaps with time" the doctor said flatly. "I told you. You had nothing to offer but your body."
He stepped closer, wiping his gloves on a rag that looked suspiciously bloodstained.
"You're broken, Vielza. But you're also... unique. A fractured Exo core with adaptive potential. Someone tried to erase you, as we can see from your memories—and they did a decent job. But now you're back in the game."
The world began to flicker in Vielza's eyes, strange colours spun around in his head.
"You did something to me."
"You got free treatment, I had to experiment a little."
Viel slid off the table, swaying on his feet. "You're insane." He clutched at his head in angst.
"Probably," the doctor shrugged. "But let me explain the terms. If you survive, my research is proven. If someone's core is untrained or crippled, you can put a military grade chip in their head and they won't explode. They might just go a little crazy."
"Well, I think I'm already a little crazy." Viel muttered.
He tapped a button on the wall. A screen lit up with Viel's vitals—heart rate, brain activity, and a pulsing readout:
NEURAL CHIP: ACTIVELOCATION: BRAINLINKED: 1/1
"If you die," the doctor said cheerfully, "I'll be sad, that chip belonged to a very powerful Exo-commander. It was so powerful they banned it after he died. It's the last of a dying collection."
Viel froze.
"You're joking. My head is definately going to explode soon."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "You can't be acting so pitiful. The chip should come of use to you eventually."
He took off his gloves, tossed them in a tray, and wiped his hands on his coat.
"Your core is repaired, barely. You'll have full Exo flow soon. But the chip will take time to settle. You'll feel... strange. But you're special, Viel. You can probably get more use out of it than most. But if you push it too fast—"
He snapped his fingers. "Boom. Stroke. Seizure. Death. Or all three in reverse."
Viel stood there, breathing hard. In reverse? What is this guy even talking about.
The laughter was gone.
The bravado—drained.
He looked at the screen, saw his name in red, blinking under the word "Test Subject."
"So that's it?" he asked. "You fix me just to set up my eventual destruction."
"Oh, Vielza," the doctor said, turning back to his tools. "At this point, you must've realized I didn't fix you. I remade you. You were a cripple, now you have the potential to get off these streets. You could be in those airships, changing the fate of the galaxy."