John was sitting in a bar, drinking, he did not do much of anything else. In New Albion, John frequents a dimly lit bar known as The Rusty Mug. The atmosphere inside is thick with the scent of aged wood and the faint hum of conversations. The bar is adorned with flickering neon signs and eclectic decorations salvaged from various eras, giving it a nostalgic yet gritty ambiance.

The Rusty Mug is a haven for those who seek solace in a glass, and its patrons include a mix of war weary rebels, disillusioned citizens, and individuals seeking a momentary escape from the harsh realities of the civil war.

The barkeep, a grizzled character with a perpetually wiped down rag, serves a selection of potent concoctions that temporarily drown out the sorrows of those who gather here. The muted glow of the bar’s neon sign casts a moody light on the worn stools and chipped tables, creating an intimate setting for reflection and camaraderie amid the chaos of New Albion’s strife.

John looked at his glass full of liquor, tears welled up in his eyes, he thought back about how he left Constance with Jackie. How he just, left them, his teenage daughter. His sister can take better care of her. He keeps reliving that day, the rebellion rising, the bombs falling. He looked into the window as the bomb fell. Vivian getting launched through the wall.

He shook his head, hoping to forget the past. “Those damn, fucking rebels.” He took a big swig. He thought back about when he left Constance. It was as if it happened yesterday, he sat there, next to her bed, she was vast asleep. He gently whispered to her, Even if he had a lot to drink.

“I am sorry Constance, I can’t stay, I need to leave, you and your aunt. I am no good for you, babe. The military has asked me to fight for them, to quench my lust for blood, to kill the rebels. I am falling into a big hole, I can only fill it by breaking their necks.”

“I will become the hand of karma, of wrath and fire and fodder.” And he did, he became the monster in the basement, fighting on the front lines, having one of the biggest kill counts. The man inside, he slowly died.

John stared at his drink as he shook it a bit, “The widows who have wept, because of my actions. The beast I have become, you must never remember me like this, my dear Constance. Your mother was my life, my everything, and Byron is the reason she is dead.” A tear fell into his drink. “She was my heart and soul, then she blew up, and she was gone.”

“Past the world, past the night, past the stars where seabirds fly. I wish for your forgiveness Constance, I wish the past were different. The time for atonement has already flown. I bet you only resent me for leaving you. Daddy will die alone, my biggest regret was leaving you. Your daddy is alone.”

He took a big gulp of his drink and slammed it down, a man in a suit sat down next to him, “I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude your, poignant drinking ceremony, and remembering your past.”

John grumbled and did not even look at him, “I have not been summoned for my next mission yet, let me drown in my sorrows.”

“That is where you are wrong, I am from the military, and we have a special mission for you, it is quite a waste to have our strongest fighter drunk all the time. Those damn rebels, it is all their reason the bombs fell on that damned day. I think you have a lot of potential. I have a proposition for you.”

John glanced at him, “Skip the sales pitch, just tell me what you want from me.”

The man was quite stumbled, “Well, I was really hoping to do my pitch, John, I practiced and wanted to do my pitch for you. We have a special plan for you, to end this coup of the Voodoopunks and the rebels forever. They are the reason your wife is dead, yes, even your sister.”

John slammed his fist down on the bar, it made a massive crack in it. “Don’t say her name.”

“Fine, if you follow me, I can take you to a special lab, where we will make you a new man, our secret weapon to destroy the Voodoopunks, and the rebels, once and for all.”

John shrugged, “Okay.”

“What, seriously? I have to tell you, the other six before you, died horribly during the procedure, it says so in my contract to recruit people. If we do succeed, you become a new kind of man, a mechanical super soldier.”

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John looked at him, “I already said, okay, what else do you want to hear, take me to your lab.”

“Okay, I will have to blindfold you as I will take you to the lab.”

John nodded, “Fine by me.” He was blinded and led somewhere.

The military’s secret laboratory, nestled within the heart of New Albion, stands as a foreboding testament to clandestine experimentation and ambitious scientific endeavors. The entrance is discreet, concealed behind an unassuming facade that belies the advanced technology and covert operations taking place within. When they were inside, John’s blindfold was removed, and he was allowed to look around.

He was met with stark, sterile white walls that seem to stretch endlessly down sterile hallways. The air carries the antiseptic scent of disinfectants, creating an artificial environment that feels disconnected from the rest of the city. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold, clinical glow over the labyrinthine facility.

State of the art equipment lines the lab, from advanced computer terminals to sleek, metallic examination tables. Large observation windows offer a glimpse into sealed chambers where experiments unfold in controlled environments. The military insignia is prominently displayed on various pieces of machinery, reinforcing the authoritarian nature of the facility.

In a secluded section of the lab, a specialized chamber awaits the focal point of the military’s ambition to create a super soldier. The chamber is equipped with intricate medical apparatus, monitoring devices, and a sophisticated array of tubes and wires. A large, imposing mechanical exoskeleton stands nearby, ready to augment and enhance the physical capabilities of the subjects.

The atmosphere in this lab is charged with an air of secrecy and urgency. Scientists in crisp white coats move with purpose, engrossed in their research and experiments. The occasional hum of machinery and subdued conversations create an eerie backdrop to the military’s pursuit of enhanced human capabilities.

The lab’s design reflects a marriage of cutting edge technology and military authoritarianism, embodying the government’s determination to create a powerful and controllable force. It stands as a symbol of the ethical boundaries being pushed in the name of power and dominance during the tumultuous dieselpunk era of New Albion. John grunted, “Alright then, let’s get this over with.”

John was first prepared for the procedure, secured onto an imposing medical table. The room hummed with the cold sterility of advanced technology. Anesthesia flowed through his veins, inducing an unconscious state that would shield him from the horrors that were about to unfold.

The surgical team meticulously removed some of John’s vital organs, replacing them with advanced mechanical counterparts designed to enhance his physical capabilities. The mechanical components seamlessly integrated with his biological systems, blurring the line between man and machine.

John’s musculature and skeletal structure were systematically enhanced, pushing beyond the limits of human potential. Synthetic muscles and reinforced bones were implanted to grant him superhuman strength and durability. The once familiar contours of his body were reshaped into a formidable and imposing figure.

John’s left arm underwent a radical transformation, replaced by a sleek mechanical counterpart. This advanced prosthetic featured a flamethrower mechanism, capable of spewing fire at the command of its new master. The integration of this fiery arsenal added a devastating offensive capability to John’s enhanced physique.

One of John’s eyes was replaced with a crimson-hued mechanical counterpart. This cybernetic eye provided him with enhanced vision, tactical analysis, and targeting capabilities. It glowed ominously, a visible symbol of the technological dominance now coursing through his veins.

John’s overall size was increased during the procedure, making him a formidable and intimidating presence. The augmentation of his physical attributes went beyond the realms of human potential, turning him into a walking juggernaut of strength and resilience.

A specialized armor, composed of advanced materials, was embedded beneath John’s skin. This armor rendered him nearly impervious to bullets and resistant to sword attacks. The once vulnerable flesh now concealed a layer of protection that defied conventional weaponry.

After the physical alterations were complete, John was closely monitored as the cybernetic components were calibrated to ensure seamless integration with his nervous system. Technicians worked diligently to fine-tune the balance between man and machine, achieving a precarious harmony.

The room, once filled with the sounds of surgical precision, fell into an eerie silence as John’s transformation reached its conclusion. He lay on the table, a fusion of flesh and metal. They waited, and waited for him to wake up. And he did, after about six hours. He slowly sat up and inspected himself.

“Huh, this is strange,” he looked at a wall, he could see the density, the amount of power he would need to crush it. He looked at his left arm, “A new kind of man, an iron man, a super soldier. Those rebels will not know what hit them.”

He walked over to the door, a scientist opened it for him, “How are you feeling, John?”

“As if I need a drink.”

“Well, it seems your mental state isn’t affected, are there any other feelings?”

“I want to crush some rebels.”

“That sounds good, there is a rebel uprising near our barricade in district two, would you like to test your strength to protect our border?”

He cracked his knuckles, one hand being more mechanical and machine like, he wondered what he could do with it. “I am ready, finally, I can crush some of those nasty rebels.”