George, who had just awakened, felt a cascade of emotions flash across his face. First, he was horrified, then relieved, depressed, and finally indifferent.
Horrified because he realized what his body had turned into.
Relieved because he was still alive.
Depressed because he was no longer human.
Indifferent because there was nothing he could do.
He couldn't reverse what had been done to his body. If he tried removing his fental core, he would lose all power and cease to exist until someone reactivated him. Half of his body was missing, replaced by robotic components. It was a miracle George could even feel emotions.
George was nothing more than a droid now. His appearance ensured he would never be accepted by society. There was no one left to take him in.
He had lost both parents at a young age, leaving him to fend for himself in a harsh world. Forced into a life of scavenging, George eventually turned to crime just to survive. Even then, he could barely scrape enough to eat.
He broke into houses, mugged pedestrians, and assaulted strangers. He had given nothing to the world, never contributing to society. Instead, he became a menace—always hurting, always taking, until the day fate caught up with him.
In the end, George got what he deserved.
He had no choice but to accept his reality. For now, he had to obey orders until the day he was ready to escape the metaphorical birdcage and live in hiding, though he knew it would mean a life of constant fear, always hunted.
The next morning, Elon summoned George Droyd to his office.
"Hello, George," Elon said with a hint of amusement. "You can thank me for giving you a second chance." He smiled.
"Affirmative. Gratitude acknowledged. Second chance protocol accepted. Thank you, sir," George Droyd replied in a robotic tone.
Elon sighed before continuing. "We have a task for you," he said, his voice commanding. "There's a man living downtown in Roche City, Spiro neighborhood. We need you to eliminate him without alerting anyone. He's usually seen wearing a blue durag. He has a narrow face, sunken cheeks, and protruding cheekbones like he's been starving for weeks. His name is Jamal. As for why he's a target... that's not something you need to know." Elon smirked.
George's mind was in turmoil, but he kept his expression neutral.
"Affirmative," he said before turning and leaving the office.
Elon watched him go, then brought his right cuff to his mouth. "It seems there are no problems, Bill. I think we can move forward with all the jobs and projects we've lined up for him."
"Good," came Bill's voice through Elon's earpiece, serious and firm. "But monitor him for at least a month. If you notice any abnormalities, inform Mark and tell him to expedite the NygroChain Layer 1 development."
"You don't need to remind me twice," Elon said with a smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his voice turning grave. "Well, George... I hope you don't disappoint us."