I was eight years old
When I saw my first corpse — and it was my older brother's.
I remember just a few hours before his death, I was at home playing with my cousins. My brother walked into the room and asked me if I wanted to go out with him for a bit on his white motorcycle.
Of course, I didn't refuse. I wish I had.
We left the family estate and were on a public road. My brother was speeding and joking around, trying to see if I'd get scared of his recklessness. And then — I don't remember when or how — suddenly, I was flying through the air, and I saw my brother holding me tightly.
When I regained consciousness a few minutes later, he was lying on top of me, covered in blood. Though he was already dead, his body was still wrapped around mine, protecting me from the impact.
I couldn't move — I didn't even think to. All I could think about was waking him up. I called his name over and over, but he didn't respond. So I looked around, searching for help.
But we were on a rarely used mountain road. It could be thirty minutes before anyone passed by.
Then I saw him — a man approaching slowly from a distance. I called out to him, but he stayed silent as he came closer. When he finally reached us, he pulled out a gun and fired exactly five bullets.
Later, they said my brother's body had taken six shots. The first one killed him — knocked him off the motorcycle.
To this day, the killer hasn't been caught. No one knows who he is.
My name is Zeus. I'm 22 years old now, and I remember the first twenty years of my life.
As for the last two — nothing.
The last thing I remember was the news that reached our family: my father and grandfather had gone missing during a high-level classified mission.
Both of them were members of Special Task Force Unit 1, part of the 350 special ops units under the Union Army. These units handle everything from espionage to assassination, infiltration, and high-risk missions that require precise, individual action.
My grandfather was the commander of Unit 1, widely known as the best among all the forces. My father was his deputy.
What I recall is that my second oldest brother, Zack — a city police officer — received a classified report stating that most members of their special task unit were lost during that mission.
The army refused to disclose any further details.
---
"You should get some rest. What do you need me to bring you?"
"Damn it, my body hurts… I really want to get out of here. I hate hospitals," Zeus thought.
"When will my wound heal?"
"The doctor estimated around two days."
"Two days!? That's not logical... Actually, maybe it is."
The injury had been caused by an explosion — one that burned and disfigured the entire right side of my body, to the point that my chest bones were exposed.
But if you're a Tier-2 Genetic Combatant, you can survive such trauma — as long as your vital organs remain intact and you're treated in time.
What baffled me was that I was a genetic combatant. Two years ago, I wasn't even Tier 1. I don't remember ever having a body type compatible enough with genetic enhancements to evolve this fast.
This two-year memory gap confuses and frustrates me deeply. I mean — over twenty people visited me while I was in a coma, claiming to be friends — I didn't recognize a single one of them.
Most were from Special Task Force Unit 293, which I was apparently assigned to nearly two years ago. It seems my joining them falls within the lost time in my memory.
"Finally, that annoying nurse left…"
---
Zeus looked around. There were some advanced medical devices nearby, a white bed, and a small table with a silver-decorated vase filled with flowers.
A large window flooded the room with sunlight. Zeus pulled the bed cover over his head to block the rays and decided to sleep, right in the middle of the day.
---
[An hour later]
A woman stepped out of Zeus's room. She appeared to be in her thirties, and what stood out most was her resemblance to Zeus — especially in her facial features.
Yet despite her youthful appearance, she was actually sixty years old.
A man in a doctor's uniform approached and signaled for her to follow.
She did so silently. They walked until they reached an office on one of the upper floors, where another man — also in his thirties — was already waiting.
The blond man gestured for the woman to sit. She was Zeus's mother.
The doctor sat behind his desk and began to speak in a calm, slightly cold tone.
"I told you earlier that the boy would recover fully in two days… but the advanced analysis results revealed a rather serious problem."
Zeus's mother felt a wave of worry, but being a seasoned businesswoman raised in a strict and wealthy family, she had enough self-discipline to remain composed. She looked into the doctor's eyes, silently urging him to continue.
Noticing her calmness, the doctor got to the point.
"Initially, our sensors detected a continuous drop in the blue energy levels within his body. After running several tests, we couldn't pinpoint an exact cause."
"What does that mean?" asked Zeus's brother, concern etched into his face.
As another genetic combatant, Zeus's brother understood the gravity of such a statement: a drop in blue energy meant a loss of genetic powers.
The doctor continued in the same cold, even tone:
"There are two possible outcomes. Either the energy loss stops once it reaches the minimum level of a normal human… or it continues indefinitely."
Zeus's brother laced his fingers under his chin and fell into deep thought. Their mother finally spoke, her voice laced with a clear undercurrent of worry:
"So he will definitely lose his power… and after that, he'll either be an ordinary human, or a patient dependent on regular, structured blue energy infusions."
The doctor nodded solemnly.
"I'm afraid that's the situation."