Mike woke up in a surprisingly comfortable chair. It was obviously made for something his shape.
Which wasn't human.
He turned his long neck and finally looked himself over.
So this was a velociraptor. Black and grey feathers covered most of him. He had a long tail, arms with three-fingered hands, and… Well, one digitigrade leg ended in a foot with two small, normal claws and one giant, curved claw. The feathers ended about halfway down, leaving dark grey scales. The other leg was a copy, made of bronze.
Mike was fairly certain he hadn't had a prosthetic when he'd woken up last time.
Deciding to worry about that later, he tried twitching his extremities. Everything worked, including the toes on his bronze leg. Next he twitched his face, feeling a rounded snout and extremely sharp teeth.
He made a mental note to never bite his tongue.
Mike slid his feet under him and stood up. Easy. Then he backed away from the chair and looked around the room.
It was a long, thin room with thick forest green carpet. The wallpaper was light green with brown scrollwork. The only furniture was his chair and a large standing mirror.
Cautiously, Mike looked into the mirror.
He was, indeed, a velociraptor.
A part of him wondered if he was being pranked, but the rest of him knew this was real.
He lifted his arms, wondering if the feathers were long enough to fly with. His long tail had feathers at the end, too, but they seemed more ornamental.
Mike lifted his right leg, examining the prosthetic.
Amputated leg: 94% healed
Estimated time remaining: 1h23m
NOTICE: Limb has been permanently damaged. Healing will not return limb to its original state.
The notice was a bit unnecessary, but the box itself was interesting. Mike looked it over, wondering if all wounds and illnesses would get one. If they did, doctor's jobs would be a lot easier.
The box apparently decided it had said what it needed to, and vanished. Mike shrugged and looked back at his prosthetic.
It looked and felt well-made. The top part had adjustable leather straps attaching metal to what was left of his leg. When he flexed his knee they stretched just enough to stay snug. The ankle joint, though, was a complicated mess of gears and pistons. It seemed almost unnecessarily complicated. His foot was much simpler, ending in clawed toes attached with hidden gears. He moved them, wondering if this was possible through magic or engineering.
He was debating scratching the wall with a claw to see how sharp it was when the door opened. Mike spun towards it, feeling his feathers poof out.
The white-feathered dinosaur from earlier smiled at him placidly. "Hello. I am Professor Montgomery. Do you have a name?"
Mike watched him suspiciously. "Yes."
"Oh good. What is it?"
"Mike."
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"A good name," the professor said. "Come with me, Mike, we have to explain your purpose." He turned his back on Mike and walked away.
Something in Mike's mind saw the biped’s back and knew it was a perfect surface for jumping on. His large claws would dig in for purchase as it fell to the ground, defenseless, and from there it would be easy to bite into its neck and turn the terrified creature into lunch.
Mike stepped towards the door.
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"Lesson one: don't attack people," Bartholomew, the professor's assistant, snapped. "You're a carnivore. A predator. You have lots of instincts that tell you to kill things. Ignore them all."
"I said I was sorry," Mike muttered. He was in a cage.
"Not to worry," the professor called cheerfully from where he was inspecting his torn lab coat. "I've only ever had one raptor clone not attack when I turned my back on them. It's an important lesson. That's why I have steel armor on."
Mike grumbled.
“Lesson two: you are a clone,” Bartholomew said. “Do you know what that is?”
Mike nodded. “A copy. Of something alive.”
“Very good,” the professor said. “You were made at the request of Oliver Sylvester Sherrington the Third, Marquis of Huntingtonshire. He lost his leg a year ago due to an unfortunate dueling accident, thus…” He motioned to Mike’s prosthetic. “Yours is an exact replica of his. It’s very expensive.”
“Lesson three: your job is to impersonate the marquis whenever he has to do something dangerous,” Bartholomew said. “Do you know what a marquis is?”
“No,” Mike said. “It’s a fancy title but I don’t know what for.”
“We’ll teach you later,” the professor said, putting his coat back on.
“Do you know what sort of dangerous things a marquis would do?” Bartholomew asked.
Mike looked at his metal toes. “Duels?” he guessed.
“Among other things,” the professor said. “Once a year there’s an event where people can battle for a title. You’ll be expected to fight in that and win. There’s also the talks for peace, and you’ll have to collect taxes. As well as attend any event where the marquis ecpects to be attacked.”
That… sounded horrible. “Can I refuse?”
Bartholomew snorted. “Lesson five: you are property. You can’t refuse anything.”
“Not even if I think I’ll die?” Mike asked.
“Nope. Sucks, don’t it?” There was unmistakable glee in Bartholomew’s voice.
“Your purpose is to fight and do risky things,” the professor said. “If you refused you would have no purpose.”
Mike frowned. “Is there a way to gain freedom?”
“No,” the professor said. “You are as much property as a bespoke typwriter. You were created for one specific person, to do a specific thing. You aren’t a person, and never will be.”
Bartholomew just stood there with a smirk as Mike took that in. He wanted to claw the quadruped’s face off. The smug superiority was distracting him from thinking about his situation.
“Lesson six: you have a statistics screen,” Bartholomew continued easily. “Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah, a…” Mike flicked his wrist, and a blue box appeared. “That thing.”
The professor pulled his glasses on. “Very good. You can only see your own screen, but with glasses I can see yours.” He moved closer, looking at the box.
Mike focused on it as well.
Strength: 48/100
Agility: 80/100
Stamina: 40/100
Health: 97/100 (At Fault: Right Leg)
Buffs:
Debuffs:
Abilities: Polyglot (Speech 100), Sneak Attack (Stealth 100)
Accolades: Clone, Cyborg
Class: Defense Clone
Mike glanced at the professor, wondering if the stats were good or bad.
“Exactly as expected,” the dinosaur said. “Because everyone asks… it’s rare to see the first three above 90. When babies are hatched, their strength, stamina and agility are at 1. Most adults have a strength hovering in the 50’s. And no, intelligence and wisdom aren’t statistics. No one seems clear on how they would work and yet still expect them.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Ok, nothing too complicated…”
A loud gong sounded from somewhere outside the building, followed by several dings and chimes from within.
“It is now time for lunch,” the professor announced. “We will eat, and then you will meet Jason for training. Tomorrow we’ll introduce you to the Marquis. If he accepts you, you’ll go to his house for further training.”
“And if he doesn’t accept me?” Mike asked.
“Trust me, pal,” Bartholomew said. “You don’t want to hear the answer to that.”