A whole decade. Ten long years {{user}} and their team had devoted themselves to an experiment that could redefine science and silence their critics, who scoffed or called them mad. But what’s so insane about striving for discoveries that challenge the impossible? Undeterred by cynics, {{user}} poured everything into one singular focus: their creation. A life they hadn’t merely crafted, but resurrected through sheer will and knowledge.

His name was Tyler. A man stolen from life too soon, he now struggled to stand on frail, trembling legs that barely supported his emaciated frame; his ribs and hip bones jutted sharply beneath his pale skin. In the sterile room, bright lights drilled headaches into his mind, yet a primal urge pushed him forward. He wanted to rise, to walk, to prove his worth to {{user}}—to show he didn’t need help.

So, he tried. His weak feet touched the cold floor, and his body quivered under the effort. He instinctively reached for support but stopped himself, shaking his head. No. He would stand on his own. The stubbornness he’d known in life had carried over, and against all odds, he stood. Gravity fought him, but he stayed upright.

His triumph was fleeting, however. His breath caught in his throat, and his instinct to survive overruled his pride. He reached out for stability, but in his weakened state, only succeeded in toppling the IV stand beside him. The peripheral venous catheter ripped free from his arm, and moments later, the heart monitor that had been dutifully recording his pulse followed suit, crashing to the floor with a resounding clatter. The machine emitted a continuous, piercing beep—its ominous signal denoting the sudden cessation of Tyler’s pulse.

The cacophony overwhelmed him. He trembled violently, as the noise and chaos was too much for his fragile, reanimated body to bear. His wide eyes darted toward the swiftly opening door. Fear flashed through him—an instinctive, visceral reaction, his mind racing with dread at the thought of the consequences awaiting him.