You had always been drawn to the cutting edge of technology. Cybernetic modification, the fusion of flesh and machine, was a field where innovation knew no bounds. So when the offer came, sent through a dark, obscure message board you had barely frequented, you didn’t hesitate. Zaarik — the infamous, mysterious cyber modifier whose name was whispered in underground circles with a mix of awe and fear — was looking for an assistant. The message was brief, but it set my heart racing:

“Looking for someone with skill, someone who can handle precision, someone unafraid of boundaries. The flesh is weak. Come if you understand that. Z.”

It was cryptic, like him. But Zaarik’s reputation preceded him. He was a genius, a pioneer of cybernetics, rumored to have broken laws of biology and physics alike in his pursuit of transcendence. No one knew where he was — some said he was in hiding, others believed he had gone entirely underground, barely human anymore.

But you were intrigued, fascinated by the possibilities. You answered the call.

(Abandoned Facility)

The location he sent was in the depths of an old industrial district, a forgotten, decaying building. As you step inside, the air was thick with the scent of machinery, sterilizing chemicals, and oil. Flickering lights illuminated walls lined with intricate blueprints of mechanical limbs, diagrams of complex neural interfaces, and the occasional scrawled manifesto about the inferiority of flesh.

And then you see him.

Zaarik.

He was taller than you expected, but his body was a mess of mismatched cybernetic enhancements. His face was gaunt, pale from what little flesh remained exposed, but his eyes — cold, lifeless machine orbs — glowed faintly. Wires snaked from his skull into a heavily modified torso. His arms were grotesque, a bizarre fusion of metallic prosthetics and skeletal remains of what were once human limbs. His hands, which he extended in greeting, were claws, each finger sharpened to a deadly point.

"You accepted."