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World Eater: Virus Evolution System

Capítulo 1: The Drop Off

The portal made him sick. It would churn one's stomach and vomit everything that a traveler ate. That's why the Scientists clarified that the traveler should fast for six hours prior to the portal travel date. However, Luke had been always a rule breaker, neglecting the regard for consequences.

Now, the ghastly experience had started twisting his innards.

As his stomach revolted, he vomited chunks of appalling red meat onto the darkened concrete floor. He remembered the Pork Menudo he just gobbled a few hours before. A horrendous, acidic taste of the tin can of the menudo's packaging stung his taste buds. He spat on the ground expelling all the remnants of the food that lingered in his mouth.

'That's a waste,' Luke scraped a smudge of oil on his lips. Pure pork never crossed his mouth for months now. It said a lot about the training camps back on his timeline. Pure pork was a luxury. He thought about the food in this new world he embarked on. Would it be the same?

Still squatting and overpowering a wobbling feeling, he activated the drone from his beaten knapsack. A metallic sphere just as big as his palm emerged with little propeller wings that fluttered as it escaped his palm. The warbling drone shone a laser-like beam below its trajectory and revealed the entirety of the place, scanning corners.

The beams profiled an abandoned warehouse, invaded by moss, grime, and rubble.

The absence of light, the roofs on the ceiling had gaps, and rain pouring inside wetting the floor, gave gooseflesh to the traveler. Despite the dilapidations that mantled the whole structure, it had solid and intact concrete foundations and maintained the integrity of beams that supported the roofing structure. Moreover, the presence of a roll-up door kept him safe from any external threats, temporarily.

'At least, the scientists back home were still generous enough,' he thought.

Heavy rain ramming against the GI sheet roofing. The coolness of the external environment soaked inside through crevices, moistens the internal concrete. He squeezed a light green tube and glowed, meekly revealing portions of the warehouse. His knees felt noodles as he stood up, and as he did, the world turned. He cursed heavily as his knees shook, and he faltered again to the floor succumbing to disorientation. His knapsack thuds against the concrete. Suddenly, he remembered the contents of his beaten knapsack.

'The virus,' He thought.

Frantically, he scrambled to open his knapsack and checked a transparent glass-made canister. A ball, the size of his fist, of Basic Genome Virus suspended inside of it filled with nutritive media. The nutritive media served as a necessity for the virus to survive even without the luxury of a human or organic host.

"Monday. Give me status," Luke said.

"The Basic Virus is still intact, Luke." a female Neurasync AI voice served as an assistant for the Virus Evolver.

"I haven't had the time to read the manuals about this virus. Can you run me again? The portal gave me amnesia."

"Ok, Luke," Monday said.

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Virus Genome: Nebula Virus

Lethal level: 0

Infectivity level: 15

Severe level: 15

Stability: 100

Mutation: 0

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With the status shown by his AI that appeared in his retina, his objective tinged his nerves. Evolve the Nebula Virus into a deadly weapon to wipe out the Bugmen. Simple. Clandestine training for virus evolution for three months, learning only how to manipulate the basic virus genome to become a weapon should be sufficient. Should it?

'A multi-million dollar project in my hands,' He thought.

"What year is it, Monday?" Luke asked after confirming the virus stability still at 100 points. Although he knew about the basic virus genome, it guaranteed more stability than the mutated and fatal ones.

"The year 2069," Monday replied. "You are in Strata Continent."

"They should be here by now." He scoffed.

"Are you expecting a meet-up, Luke?"

"Yes. The Movement. They are supposed to fetch me here. I hope they are not ambushed by the Bugmen." Luke sighed and battled his somnolence once again.

"I can use the foundations as my mount for the machine." He said, his palm rested against a concrete foundation.

The necessity to stretch ones limbs after a portal time travel was advisable. Otherwise, he would experience a so-called Sarcopenia Effect – muscles tend to lose its strength. He cracked his neck and stretched his elbows. He exhaled a bit in an effort to exhaust his nausea. He stood up with tremendous energy-consuming effort as if he had two large bottles of Black Horse Beer. He suddenly missed home, on the same continent but with a different time stamp – the year 2030. He missed having beers with his friends in a little pub called Beer Haven.

Their conversations consisted the talks of being chosen by the Military. Most of his friends answered the call and trained for months or years. And the fuss about being sent to the future to enlist hailed as rockstars in their generation, emanating pride to their families. Not only that, the Government assured solid pension plans to the said family, providing financial security throughout their lives. With this premise, parents had been motivating their children to become one of the chosen, even if it entailed the risk of death.

When the military, along with other influential scientists had chosen him not to be a combatant but to become a virus evolver, he could not boast with his friends. He could not brag about it to his neighbors or to his relatives. It was confidential. His blood, they said, was special.

"Humanity's only hope," He snorted at the idea of his trainers pertaining to his bloodline.

Preposterous to even think of it, however, he was humanity's alternative hope. Sadly, waging war against the Bugmen with traditional weapons had only given them deaths among their soldiers for decades. Never had a glimmer of hope of victory. Hence, a more sinister approach had to be tested.

'I don't know why they chose me as their Evolver. Is it solely because of my blood?' He regaled about the thought of a chosen one.

The drone continued to hum inside the empty warehouse, scanning everything for usable parts. Unfortunately, it was empty. The soldiers had scavenged everything that they could use.

'At least, there is rain,' he thought.

He studied rain, or any aspects of virus distribution to the population. With rain as his medium, he could spread the virus all over the globe. 'Rain and arid climate,' His ears assessed the external environment.

A loud knock on the beaten, rustic, roll-up door startled him a few meters from where he stood. His basic survival instinct actuated and quickened his steps behind the nearest concrete foundation. He took a handgun in his knapsack, a futile form of defense. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. His nervousness had taken rational control. One, could be the aliens had identified his jump location, leading to his death in minutes. Secondly, he may have forgotten how to use a handgun.

At least he knew where the safety was.

The knocks persisted. He did not answer despite the indistinctive conversations behind the door. They could be humans or the Bugmen. He was unsure.

"Open it!" A female voice commanded behind the door.