Bad Born Blood-Chapter 156

Chapter 156

All life emits energy.

Saying that a star is alive follows the same logic. A star radiates energy like a living organism, and when it exhausts its power, it dies.

Life is dynamic and ever-changing. Death, on the other hand, signifies a state that no longer changes.

...Death is stillness.

‘Death—what lies beyond it?’

It is a question countless intelligent beings have cast toward the universe.

Some claim that nothing lies beyond. A materialist statement. From a cold, rational perspective, consciousness is nothing more than a fragile, imperfect illusion. In fact, our consciousness is not even the brain itself but merely a ‘temporary reactive phenomenon.’ There is so much evidence supporting this claim that it is difficult to refute.

Consciousness is simply a term for the phenomenon that appears while energy flows through the body. No different from the light that disappears when a lamp’s switch is turned off.

That means we are not the ‘lamp’ itself but rather closer to the ‘light,’ and our value depends on the form that light takes.

Brighter, more colorful, lasting longer.

Like stars shining in the night sky, we flaunt our own colors with pride. And one day, we will all quietly fade away.

‘Luka. Lukaus Custoria.’

I recalled my name. It seemed I was not dead yet.

If I had died, my thoughts would have come to a complete halt. Not even the faintest light would have remained.

My consciousness was faint, and my memories were murky. My brain was not functioning properly. My experiences and recollections were in disarray—neither in chronological order nor by significance.

It was as if I had closed my eyes and flipped open a book to a random page. The sequence of my memories was completely jumbled. I needed to infer causality between each scene and arrange them in order. The moments with the strongest emotions had to be set aside separately—those must have been important events.

Like a librarian, I began organizing my memories. A tedious task.

I had only just regained consciousness, and my level of awareness was still extremely low. My thoughts moved sluggishly, like a rusted machine, and the connection between my body and brain was nonexistent.

...Let’s entertain a terrifying thought for a moment.

What if I were nothing more than a brain in a vat? Floating in isolation, thinking all on its own?

In any case, the situation was not good. I could not perceive any external stimuli. Just as a person loses their humanity if they fail to engage in human activities, the brain requires proper stimulation to maintain its functions.

If I remained like this, I would become a fool.

“...Awake...”

Ah, what a relief. I could hear something.

My hearing was the first to respond. Starving for stimulation, my brain seized the sound eagerly, savoring it.

The voice belonged to a male past puberty. It didn’t carry any signs of deterioration or aging, nor did it seem artificially altered by mechanical devices. Since my first impression was that it belonged to someone past puberty, he was likely a young man. His vocal cords were probably organic as well. I didn’t detect any damage from addiction to cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs.

I never imagined such a trivial stimulus could feel this sweet. That voice was so welcome that I felt like hugging him, even if he was a man.

“...He’s awake. His level of consciousness is rising rapidly.”

“You idiot, if you know his consciousness is rising fast, don’t just talk—move your ass.”

“Se-senior, should I administer a sedative?”

“Hey, how long are you gonna keep asking about every little thing? This isn’t your first day.”

A conversation between a nasty senior and a clueless junior, it seemed. Their accent wasn’t from Akbaran.

I listened calmly. A rapid awakening could overload the brain and cause damage. It was the same principle as injuring your body by performing a difficult motion without warming up first.

But for me, a “rapid awakening” wasn’t some kind of high-level mental activity. It was just part of my daily routine.

I focused and consciously awakened my senses. Since my hearing had already been activated, the rest of my senses responded in an instant.

Twitch.

My eyelids trembled. Now that I thought about it, hadn’t my eyes and optic nerves been completely destroyed...?

“Ah, the patient—he’s, he’s waking up!”

“Damn it, I told you he shouldn’t wake up yet! Administer the sedative! Hurry!”

My vision was perfectly fine. It looked like someone had performed an optic nerve reconstruction procedure on me.

Two men in white coats came into view. The one with the foul mouth had so many tattoos covering his face that his white coat almost looked ridiculous on him. Judging by his attire, he worked in the medical field, but his appearance screamed lower-sector gang member.

And the junior staff member, who was visibly intimidated by the tattooed man, was fumbling with a syringe in a panic. His face was bruised, likely from frequent beatings.

“Uh, uhm, s-sir, according to protocol, y-you’re supposed to remain asleep for now...”

What kind of idiot nonsense was that?

I glanced around. I was lying in a bed, with various devices attached to my body. Complex machines were monitoring my vital signs, displaying graphs and numbers on a screen. From the looks of it, I was in a lower-sector hospital.

Smack!

The tattooed man struck the back of the junior’s head with force.

“What’s the point of talking to a guy who’s barely conscious? He won’t be able to move anyway. Give me that.”

The tattooed man snatched the syringe and approached me.

I opened my mouth a few times, but my speech functions were still recovering, so the words didn’t come out immediately.

“...Put the syringe down before I snap your wrist.”

I barely managed to say that while lying down. The tattooed man’s eyes widened, and he hesitated.

Creak.

My limbs twitched faintly. I had prosthetic arms and legs attached.

I closed my eyes slightly and adjusted my vital signals. Judging by their responsiveness and output, these prosthetics were cheap, barely functional even for daily use. They had been attached just for show. There was no artificial skin or sensory feedback, making them feel dull and cumbersome. They were nothing more than moving chunks of metal.

Now that I had checked my body, it was time to decide on my course of action.

My name was Luka, and I had no clear understanding of my current situation. My last memory was of Storm Season in Akbaran. I had no recollection of what happened after that. However, judging by the peeling paint on the walls, the faded medical equipment, and the rough speech of the so-called medical staff, it didn’t seem like I had received treatment in a “good place.”

In the worst-case scenario, someone with hostility or ill intent had woken me up.

And I always assumed the worst. I had known since I could take my first steps that life wasn’t so easy.

“I understand that suddenly waking up must have been surprising, but if you stay put, nothing bad will happen.”

The tattooed man spoke while pressing the syringe against my neck.

I gave him a polite warning.

Crack.

I meant it when I said I’d snap his wrist.

I swung my right fist and struck his elbow. Since his arm was biological, the bone snapped cleanly, piercing through his skin and clothing.

To be honest, I hadn’t intended to break his elbow. I was unfamiliar with the prosthetics, so my output and movements were out of control. There was a significant disconnect between my thoughts and actions. Right now, I didn’t have time to calibrate, so I had to make do with rough adjustments.

“U-Aaaargh! M-My arm! My arm! It fucking hurts, you bastard!”

I was sorry to say, but his screams were an excellent stimulus. It felt like eating food overloaded with seasoning—intense, tingling all the way into the depths of my brain.

Recognizing combat, my brain instantly switched into high gear.

“W-Wha—W-W-Wait! S-Senior! His bone—His bone is sticking out!”

The foolish junior screamed.

“Khuh...! G-Guards! Guards!”

The tattooed man reached for a button on the wall.

I moved, forcing my upper body up. My entire frame groaned and creaked.

Whoosh!

I grabbed the tattooed man’s collar and yanked him back. Hm, I hadn’t just grabbed his clothes—I had pinched his flesh as well.

"Aaaaaaargh!"

Well, it made sense that he was in pain. Getting his side pinched by a metal hand must have been excruciating.

I pulled him in and wrapped my arm around his neck, tightening my grip.

"Where is this place?"

I asked calmly.

"P-Please... l-let go, s-sir...! Kugh! Kugh!"

"Just answer the question."

The tattooed man wasn’t used to combat, nor did he have any tolerance for pain.

Crunch!

I bit down on his ear and tore it off with all my strength.

"KYAAAAAAAAGH!"

His scream was ear-piercing. I spat his earlobe onto the floor, the metal of his piercing clinking against the surface.

"Next, I’ll gouge out your eyeballs. And you, idiot over there—stay still. If you so much as twitch a finger, you’ll get to see your senior’s neck do a full 360-degree spin."

Threats had to be delivered with conviction. You had to mean it.

“D-Don’t move! Stay still! Listen to the customer! Kugh! Kugh! Hahh...!”

The tattooed man had already experienced my violence firsthand. The thought that he might actually die had finally sunk into his skull.

"Answer me. Where is this place?"

“L-Lazarus.”

A name I had never heard before.

"Give me the geographical location and the name of the person who paid for my treatment."

“B-Border City...! I-I’m just a grunt... I-I don’t know the details... P-Please, spare me...!”

Now I understood why his accent had seemed unfamiliar. This place wasn’t even on the outskirts of the Empire.

‘Border City of the Bellato Federation.’

I had heard about it multiple times. It was the city Lilian Lamones had wanted to visit.

Click!

I frowned.

The junior staff member, who had been watching nervously, suddenly bolted to the wall and pressed the security call button.

The most shocked person in the room was none other than the tattooed man.

"Y-YOU FUCKING BASTAAAAARD! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU MOVE?!"

I had made it very clear that if he moved, I would kill the tattooed man. Yet he had acted without hesitation. I hadn’t expected him to have this kind of nerve.

“Uh... S-So... you’re not going to kill him? B-But I just moved? T-This is... kinda awkward now, isn’t it?”

The junior staff member sounded genuinely flustered.

"What?"

The tattooed man was stunned speechless, and even I was momentarily dumbfounded.

Clatter!

The junior staff member flung the door open and bolted.

“...If you kept bullying that guy, he was bound to kill you someday. People like that are the scariest."

I kicked the tattooed man aside and let him go. Groaning in pain, he crawled away to the corner.

Creak, creak.

I walked over to the wall-mounted monitor with my prosthetic legs, which were little better than scrap.

Once I started moving, I realized my body wasn’t as stiff as I had expected. It seemed they had put me through motor rehabilitation while I was unconscious. That would explain why my muscles were still intact and why I still had prosthetic arms and legs attached.

Swipe.

I moved my palm across the screen, flipping through my medical records.

‘Keisa Tres.’

That was the name registered under my file.

‘Keisa... That’s the name I used when I was crossdressing.’

There were very few people who knew that name.

‘...Tres.’

It meant "three" in several languages.

I flipped to the next record. The guards were likely on their way. I needed to absorb all the information and move quickly.

“Unbelievable.”

I scowled.

I had been here for nine years. Five of those years had been spent in cryogenic sleep. My actual treatment duration had been four years. And from the date, it seemed I had been admitted three years after Storm Season had ended.

‘Twelve years have passed.’

More time had slipped by than I had anticipated.

Tap, tap.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. The metallic clinking accompanying them suggested they belonged to armed guards.

‘This is a problem.’

The limbs I had now weren’t designed for combat. Worse yet, I hadn’t calibrated or adapted to them. My eyes... I flinched.

They weren’t cybernetic implants. Both were biological.

No wonder they felt too natural.

I pressed my back against the door and peeked into the hallway. Two armed guards appeared at the corridor’s corner.

Chzzzt, chzzzt.

Each of them was holding an electrified baton, while their pistols were neatly holstered at their waists.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

‘Well... if it’s close combat, I can manage somehow.’

In my current state, dodging bullets would be difficult. But close combat? That was just a matter of technique.

The distant ancestors of Earth had killed with nothing more than rocks. And I had chunks of metal strapped to my arms. If a person gets hit with metal, they die.

I was in the middle of sharpening my senses when I suddenly flinched.

There was another presence.

- Keisa Tres, have you already awakened?

A mechanical voice echoed from around the corridor’s bend. Someone was approaching. If my brain were in better shape, I would have been able to map out their form with auditory perception.

Soon, a large alien figure came into view. I had seen this species before.

‘Equessian.’

A fragment of unstable memory surfaced quickly. I extracted only the necessary information.

I had faced an Equessian before. They were a race larger than humans, renowned for their combat prowess—so much so that they were often called a mercenary species.

The battle helmet that fully concealed its face and its blue skin streaked with orange stripes were just as I remembered.

- My employer paid for your treatment. I understand your wariness of unfamiliar surroundings, but if we intended to harm you, there would have been no reason to spend such a massive sum. Your limbs would have been removed from the start.

A mechanical voice came from the translator attached to the Equessian’s neck.

“What’s the employer’s name?”

- I cannot say here. Think wisely. The employer values you.

I paused to think. It felt like my brain cells were waking up one by one. As my perception sharpened, the world became increasingly clear.

‘Keisa Tres.’

It was a code only I could understand.

There were only a handful of people who knew the name Keisa. And among them, only one person would associate Tres—the number three—with me.

“...Hah... Haha.”

I covered my mouth, laughter slipping through my fingers.

‘Giselle Custoria.’

The number of times I had been involved with her was three.

A romantic little code. Just like her.