He had lost all sense of time, drifting in and out of a deep, dreamless slumber. When he finally opened his eyes, his head throbbed and every muscle felt stiff as stone. Slowly, each movement causing pain, he struggled to rise from his bed and stumbled to the door, testing the handle with trembling fingers. Despite a small glimmer of hope, the door remained firmly locked, just as he had expected.

After these extraordinary and traumatic events, he struggled to gather his thoughts and find a way out of this complex situation. Perhaps a shower would help clear his mind.

As he stepped into the shower stall, water began spraying from countless holes that opened in the ceiling—a sign of modern technology. Caught off guard, he jumped back quickly. The moment he left the stall, sensors detected his absence and the holes instantly closed. His clothes were already soaking wet.

"I feel like a child," he thought while removing his wet clothes. As he examined his body, an unexpected sight greeted him—his entire lower body, from feet to chest, was covered in a metallic texture. His eyes unwillingly drifted to his genitals, now completely gray. He hesitantly ran his fingers over the foreign material; it had a strange skin-like texture, but it definitely wasn't human. Below his chest were nail-like connection points securing this metallic covering to his body. With each touch of these metal pieces, the reality that his body was no longer entirely his own became more apparent.

As he prepared to step back into the shower, he caught his reflection in the wall mirror. He stared at the man before him, hypnotized. Was this really him? Sharp brown eyes with a tired gaze, messy black hair falling just above his eyes, an unkempt beard... Everything looked normal and familiar on the surface, but something inside screamed that nothing was normal. He had no idea who this stranger in the mirror was. More frightening still, he couldn't remember what his real face had looked like. Was this his face from before he died? He added this thought to his growing list of unanswered questions and tried not to dwell on it.

The shower stall seemed to read his mind—the water temperature adjusted perfectly, its soft steam purifying his lungs. He sat down, trying to empty his thoughts. He closed his eyes and focused only on the peaceful sensation of warm water against his skin.

Half an hour later, feeling renewed, he stepped out. It took a moment to notice Aleah sitting silently on his bed. He instinctively turned away, hastily covering himself.

"Couldn't you have knocked?" he asked, discomfort evident in his voice.

"I did knock but you didn't answer. Besides, you needn't be embarrassed. I was specially assigned to monitor you closely. Think of me as your personal doctor. Nudity isn't important—who do you think put you back together? I didn't do it while you were clothed."

"There's a huge difference between that situation and this one. Don't expect gratitude for bringing me back to life. Being my doctor doesn't mean you can see me naked whenever you want!"

"Aww."

"What do you mean 'aww'!"

Aleah stood and headed for the door while the man carefully turned his body, following her movements.

"I'll do your final checks, then you'll receive your first assignment. Come with me."

"What assignment? I'm not doing anyth—" Before he could finish, it felt like hundreds of volts struck his body. The torture lasted five seconds. "Whatever you've put in me, take it out right now! You can't force me to—" The shocking began again, this time lasting ten agonizing seconds.

"You'd better stop. The more you resist, the worse it gets. Put your clothes on and return to the room where you woke up yesterday."

"My clothes... are wet..." he gasped, doubled over in pain.

"You can come naked too, I don't mind." she said before leaving.

"Damn woman! Damn these people! This situation won't last forever—I'll find a way to escape." he muttered angrily.

He paced the room, trying to evaluate his situation with a cool head. Kept in deep sleep for seven thousand years, strange metal parts installed in his body, and now they expected something from him. These facts seemed more absurd with each passing second.

He knew panic would do no good. First, he needed to accept his situation calmly, then find a way to escape. For now, the most logical option was to play along and gain their trust.

He looked helplessly at his soaking clothes. "I wonder if there are any others?" he thought hopefully, glancing around. In a small closet in the corner, he found several plain, gray garments. Relieved, he quickly changed.

"At least they showed the courtesy of providing clean clothes," he muttered sarcastically.

He left the room and carefully retraced yesterday's path down the corridor. He noticed there were no windows anywhere—it felt like an underground prison. At the corridor's end, he spotted the familiar door from yesterday.

The door had no handle. As he reached to touch it, red lights danced over him, and it silently opened. "I know how this works!" he thought with childlike excitement.

Inside, he found Aleah sitting at an impressive machine that dominated the room. Its metallic surface gleamed like a mirror, countless holographic screens pulsing hypnotically. In the center, blue liquid undulated within a crystal cylinder. Along the sides, small tanks held floating translucent tissues at various stages of development—some still forming, others nearly identical to human tissue.

"What is this machine?" he asked, mesmerized by the screen.

"Genetic Encoder. It reconfigures nanomachines according to tissue samples and measurements I input."

"So what exactly does it do?" he repeated, confused.

"I assemble body parts here."

"I see. Now tell me about this assignment."

"I don't know. You need to talk to Consultant Zeta."

"I hate that man."

"Nothing I can do about it."

Bored of waiting, he tapped out a rhythm with his feet. Soon, a bright green light appeared on the screen.

"Complete and error-free!" The woman squealed with joy.

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One tank's liquid began draining automatically. Once empty, Aleah carefully opened the lid and removed a bright purple, palm-sized ball.

"Strip." she commanded with professional seriousness.

"Can't we do this without stripping?"

She shook her head firmly. Reluctantly, he removed his gray shirt. She gestured for more. Despite his reluctance, he complied completely. Though being gray from chest down offered some comfort, he couldn't shake his embarrassment.

She pressed the purple ball against his stomach. It flattened instantly like clay, spreading across his body hypnotically. Every gray area glowed purple before fading to natural human skin. His body looked perfect, as if it had never changed. As he now resembled a real human again, his embarrassment returned, and he turned away reflexively.

"Let me look at my masterpiece!" she exclaimed, jumping up.

"Which part are you calling a masterpiece?"

"I designed your entire body. My superiors only asked for a healthy-looking form. I won't lie—I made it how I wanted it. You're lucky, I gave you an amazing body."

"I'm not stripping for you again, get that into your head."

"It doesn't matter, you'll have to strip for necessary procedures anyway."

He exhaled angrily.

"Where am I meeting Zeta?"

"At the restaurant across the street."

"So there are still restaurants after seven thousand years."

"If you're spending too much time in alternative reality, I suggest cutting back."

"What's that?"

"We'll discuss that another time. For now, let's focus on getting you ready for the meeting. You need to wear the proper uniform for your position," she said professionally. She reached for an ornate wooden box with gold trim beside her, carefully opened it, and removed neatly folded clothes that had been specially chosen, holding them out to him.

Still naked, he dressed quickly without thinking. First came elastic, high-quality leather pants with red and brown straps, secured by an embroidered brown belt. Over a thin black shirt, he donned an elaborate black and red vest with gold embroidery. He added an elegant brown leather cape reaching his shoulder blades, noting the gold emblem at its neck. "How much gold did they use?" he wondered.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the badge.

"I don't know, best to ask management. Like Consultant Zeta."

Finally, after pulling on high-quality black and red gloves and comfortable boots, he was ready. "Let's see what he wants from me..." he thought anxiously before leaving the room.

When he walked out the door, two young men in black uniforms waited for him. They had sharp features, athletic builds, and the keen, alert look that comes only from years of guard training. Though they couldn't have been older than twenty-five, their bearing showed years of professional experience. Their weapons—sleek, compact devices—rested in specially designed holsters, gripped with practiced readiness. They stood so still they might have been figures in a painting, every detail was perfect. Their disciplined movements revealed years of intensive training.

When the young guards noticed him, they examined his formal attire before smoothly transitioning from attention to parade rest in perfect unison.

"Sir! We have been assigned to escort you safely to the outer door. We are at your complete disposal." one said formally.

Their professional deference made him feel important, but an inner voice warned against letting this treatment cloud his judgment. He responded with just a slight nod to proceed.

Through winding corridors and sharp turns, they reached a high-security door guarded by armed personnel. The guards snapped to attention at his approach. "Initiate exit procedure." one escort commanded. It took five minutes to deactivate the advanced security mechanisms. Wherever this facility was, it was clearly under strict control.

Beyond the security door, ornate stairs led upward, seemingly to nowhere. One guard smoothly removed a gold-plated badge from his light, flexible white-and-red armor and pointed it at the wall.

A bright blue beam shot from the badge, revealing a hidden passage. Inside was a humid room filled with neatly stacked mysterious boxes. Without a word, he climbed the spiral stairs rising from its center.

At the top, he emerged into an enormous hall unlike the dark corridors below. Custom-designed glass covered the walls and high ceiling, offering his first clear view of the outside world. The sight left him speechless.

Modern apartments of glass and steel rose majestically, their surfaces gleaming in the sunlight. The city streets glowed as if stars had descended from the sky, light dancing from every window. He walked to the glass doors with measured steps, feeling the smooth floor beneath him. As he stepped onto the terrace, the intense sunlight pierced his eyes like needles. He shielded his face, blinking until his vision cleared. When he could finally see clearly, an inexplicable sadness washed over him—as if his soul recognized this view but had forgotten why.

From this height, the city spread below like an intricate painting. Wide streets formed crystal-like geometric patterns, perfectly parallel boulevards stretched to the horizon, and strategic patches of green parks softened the urban landscape. But one structure dominated his attention: a majestic castle of granite and marble rising from the city's heart. Its soaring towers, thick walls, and ornate details seemed to belong to another age entirely. He wondered why such an ancient building stood amid this modern metropolis—perhaps as a tourist attraction, or something more significant? The melancholy lingered, unexplained.

"They're not here..."

Another voice echoed in his mind—deep with sadness and regret, familiar yet foreign. Thinking someone had spoken, he turned to find only the silent guards.

"This way, sir," one guard said, drawing him from his thoughts. They walked to the hall's end, where doors opened with a soft hiss onto a sprawling terrace.

A luxury restaurant commanded the terrace's center, offering spectacular city views. Live music drifted from inside, and an elegantly dressed greeter in pressed black stood waiting. The guards took positions at the entrance, their duties complete.

The greeter professionally assessed his attire before offering the traditional welcome.

"Welcome, sir! Did you have a reserved table?"

"Is someone named Zeta here?"

The greeter consulted his tablet.

"Table 27, sir," he indicated with a graceful gesture.

He spotted Zeta gazing distantly at the city view. With a polite nod to the greeter, he approached and pulled out a chair.

"You need permission from your superiors before sitting at the table." Zeta said, eyes still fixed on the view.

"Of course." he replied with a sarcastic smile, sitting anyway. "What do you want from me?"

"First, I want us to be less hostile toward each other. Believe me, I'm not your enemy, but your friend. And friends help each other." Zeta offered.

"I want to get through this quickly. Don't drag it out—tell me directly."

Zeta sighed deeply and finally turned to face him.

"You have many questions, don't you? You want answers? Then do what I say, and I'll give you the answers you seek." he said soothingly.

"Fuck..." he thought. Zeta had laid out exactly what he wanted. Knowing force wouldn't work, he gave a slight nod of agreement.

"The star system is called Nivara. We're on Equina, one of its habitable planets. This country is Gradia, and this city is Lotiana, one of its most advanced metropolises." Zeta explained carefully.

"What is this place?" he asked, gesturing to the building around them.

"Just an ordinary plaza that belongs to me. Nothing special." Zeta smiled mysteriously.

His jumbled memory held no trace of these places. Nothing Zeta mentioned sparked even a hint of recognition. He felt utterly adrift.

"I'm sure this all seems strange. Don't worry, you'll adjust in time. Now, you must be hungry. Let me order breakfast." Zeta said, reaching for the tablet.

"How old am I?" he asked suddenly.

"Biologically or chronologically?"

"Biological."

"Twenty-nine."

"So chronologically, I'm seven thousand three hundred and eighty-five years old." he muttered, the knowledge surfacing unbidden.

"Correct." Zeta said, unsurprised.

A waiter began serving their meal.

"Six thousand two hundred and seventy-four times eight hundred and thirty-six?" Zeta asked unexpectedly.

The man froze. What startled him wasn't the complex multiplication but knowing the answer instantly.

"Five million two hundred forty-five thousand and sixty-four... How... how can I know this?" he asked, fear edging his voice.

Zeta looked utterly unsurprised—confident, even.

"Before I tell you your mission, there are more important things you should know." he said, pouring purple sauce over something bread-like. "The body parts used to create you came from crucial figures in our civilization. Every part is beyond perfect. Security protocols forbid me from naming them—except one. Geminga Spitzer, the universe's greatest detective, whose brain we used to create yours! I knew his genetic structure would match our criteria perfectly, and clearly, I was right." he finished, taking a bite of his exotic food.

At the detective's name, something in his brain seemed to tear free, writhing like a trapped creature trying to escape from deep within his mind. Every cell felt this foreign presence. He was certain now—something was inside him, growing stronger as his memories returned.