Shura was sixteen years old and running for his life.
That's how he'd summarize it if anyone ever asked: I owe money to some mobsters and accidentally slept with someone important's daughter.
But the real version was more complicated.
It involved a loan he never should have taken, a girl named Mara who smiled as if the world couldn't touch her, and a father with more power than any teenager should ever provoke. But details didn't matter when you had a gun aimed at your back.
The first bullet whistled past his left ear as he vaulted over a dumpster. He landed badly, his ankle twisting, pain shooting up his leg like an electric shock. Even with the pain, he didn't stop: he'd learned that stopping meant dying.
"Don't let him get away, the little rat!" the mobster's voice echoed off the sewer walls with a furious tone.
Shit! Shit! Shit! It was Shura's only thought.
The second bullet grazed his arm. It was a scratch, a hot furrow that tore a strangled cry from him. Blood began soaking through the sleeve of his jacket, sticky and warm. Shura kept running. He emerged from the sewers into another sector of the city.
The streets of the lower sector were a labyrinth of rusted pipes and flickering neon lights. He knew every alley, every dead end. He'd spent years dodging trouble and moving through back alleys, but this time the trouble had legs and was very angry.
Shura turned into an alley.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath.
He tried to climb a ventilation duct, but his fingers slipped on the wet metal. Another shot, coming from somewhere behind him, hit a pipe beside him and unleashed a sea of searing steam that burned his cheek.
The pain gave him a second of clarity. He knew he couldn't keep going much longer; they'd catch him inevitably. Looking around, Shura saw a forest ahead.
The forest was a dead forest, with large dry trees whose branches reached toward the sky. Although it was fenced off, there were areas with grates open wide enough for a grown man to squeeze through.
Shura heard the sound of quick footsteps and the voices of the mobsters following him. He had two options: the first was to go into the forest; the second was to get caught. Between the two, both were bad, but at least the forest option would give him a chance to survive a little longer.
Without hesitating, he ran toward one of the large holes and entered like a wounded animal.
Branches lashed his face, roots tried to snag his feet. The forest was darker than the most abandoned streets of the city; after all, the city had been built around it.
Behind him, the mobsters cursed but kept coming. They weren't giving up. Not with the amount of money he owed them.
The third bullet hit him in the side.
It was a blunt impact, like someone driving a red-hot iron into him. Shura stumbled, fell against something hard and metallic, and for a moment the world turned white. When his vision returned, he was on his feet again, walking more than running, one hand pressed against the wound and the other searching for support on the tree trunks.
This is ridiculous, he thought as blood seeped between his fingers. I survived everything just to bleed out in a forest that doesn't even exist on maps.
But he kept moving forward.
Blood soaked his shirt. His feet moved by inertia, guided by something that wasn't will. Maybe fear. Maybe the habit of not giving up.
The forest grew denser, quieter. The trees grew so close together that barely any light passed through. He no longer heard the mobsters. Maybe they'd given up. Maybe they were letting him die alone.
He couldn't see anything. He stretched out his arms and his fingers found a surface that wasn't wood.
It was metal.
Shura ran his hands along the freezing wall as he groped forward. A structure in the middle of the forest? He didn't remember anything about that. No one had ever mentioned a construction out here. But the wall was real, solid, and seemed to extend in all directions.
He crawled along it, leaving a trail of blood on the surface. His vision was blurring. His legs no longer responded. He fell to his knees again, and this time he wasn't sure he could get up.
"Just… one more step," he murmured, his voice broken.
He crawled across the dirt and leaf litter, searching for any place to hide, any place to stop running. His fingers found an edge. A crack. And then the world ended.
The ground beneath his feet disappeared.
Shura fell.
It wasn't like in the movies, with slow motion and time to think. It was a sudden void, his stomach lurching into his throat, a darkness that swallowed him whole. He tried to grab onto something, but only clawed at air.
The impact came before he could scream.
He landed on a hard, cold surface that stole his breath. His side exploded with a new, deeper pain. Something cracked inside him. Or maybe it was just his head, no longer able to distinguish the real world from the stars dancing before his eyes.
He was in some enclosed space. He could tell by the echo, by the smell of metal and ozone. He tried to move, but his body didn't respond. He could only turn his head, barely, and see shadows.
Robots.
Or so he thought. Slender figures, with metallic limbs, approaching him with mechanical movements. Shura tried to move away, but he had no strength. The wounds had stopped hurting; now he only felt a cold rising from his fingertips toward his chest.
So this is what dying feels like, he thought with an absurd calm. I thought it would hurt more.
But then a light turned on.
It wasn't a normal light. It was a light coming from everywhere, filling the space with a bluish glow that forced him to squint. The robots stopped, as if waiting for an order. And in the center of his chest, right over the wound in his side, Shura felt a warmth that wasn't his own.
Something pricked him. A robot had approached while he was blinded by the light. He wanted to scream, but his throat only emitted a hoarse sound.
"Activating bond protocol," a voice said.
It wasn't male or female. It was… artificial. A voice that seemed to come from the air itself.
"Blood sample received. Biological contract established. New user registered."
Shura could only stammer:
"What…?"
"Remain still. Initiating emergency medical procedures."
The robots moved again. Shura felt them lift him from the ground, felt something warm envelop his side, his arm, his cheek. The pain began to fade, replaced by a tingling sensation that coursed through every broken bone.
He wanted to ask what was happening. He wanted to scream, flee, wake up from this nightmare. But exhaustion was stronger than anything else. His eyelids felt like lead.
Before darkness claimed him completely, he managed to see the robots carrying him toward a white cot, inside a ship that glowed as if it had just woken after centuries of slumber.
A ship? In the middle of the cursed forest?
He had no time to answer. The last image he saw before losing consciousness was a hologram unfolding above his head, with letters he didn't recognize but somehow understood:
BOND COMPLETE. WELCOME, USER.
And then, nothing.
---
When Shura opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the forest. He was no longer anywhere he knew.
His body didn't hurt. That was the first thing he noticed. The wounds that should have killed him had vanished as if they never existed. He sat up on a soft surface that vibrated with a constant rhythm. Around him, metallic walls glowed with a dim light.
"Where…?" he began, his voice hoarse.
"You are safe."
The voice was different now. Softer. Feminine.
"My medical units have stabilized your injuries. Your recovery rate is… unusual for an unregistered species, but within acceptable parameters."
Shura looked around, searching for the speaker. There was no one. Only panels, lights, and in the corner, the robots now standing motionless like statues.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice still cracked.
"I am Moon. The artificial intelligence of this ship. You activated my bond protocol when your blood spilled on my main console. According to the agreement, you are now my registered user."
Shura frowned.
"I didn't sign any agreement."
"Your blood did it for you. It's a biological contract. It doesn't require verbal consent."
Shura ran his hand over his side. There wasn't even a scar.
"And now what?" he asked, a lump in his throat.
There was a silence. Then, Moon's voice responded with something that almost sounded like a smile:
"You have become the master of this ship. So I await your orders, Master."
Shura felt his heart sink completely into his stomach.