Six months passed in a blur of progress.
Denji's room—once a generic Axiom living pod—now resembled a lab more than a bedroom. Blueprints, holograms, and storage panels lined the walls. The lights stayed dim, filtered for focus. Scattered around were devices that hadn't existed before—at least not on this ship.
All thanks to the Multiversal Tech Sign-In System.
Every day, he signed in. And every few days, the system rewarded him with something from another world.
[Verse Computer: Acquired.]
[Clone chamber blueprints: Acquired.]
[Neuralink: Acquired.]
[Neural memory chips: Acquired.]
That last one had been his favorite.
Small, rectangular drives—no bigger than a fingernail—filled with skills, memories, and instincts from trained professionals. The chips could be surgically implanted and overlaid onto a brain's neural patterns. Denji had tested one weeks ago.
[MEMORY IMPLANT: Combat Specialist v1.0 Loaded.]
The memory that followed was surreal. Gun assembly, martial stances, field medicine, squad signals—it was all there in his mind like a movie he'd watched a hundred times, except... it was him. He could remember performing surgeries he'd never touched, or dismantling weapons he'd never held.
It was the perfect foundation for the players. Skills can now be acquired.
____
The Game Page came next.
Built using the data terminal he received two months in, it had access to Earth's internet through a multi-dimensional mirror protocol. He modeled the website after the most immersive alternate reality games he'd seen in his old world—part VR, part mystery, all high-stakes.
A secure gateway that didn't just let anyone in.
Before signing up, every applicant would be forced to undergo identity verification, upload credentials, and fill out a psychological evaluation. He embedded specific questions designed to filter for people with different backgrounds:
Engineers, Biologists, Doctors, Survivalists, Mechanics, Programmers, Farmers, and many more.
He wasn't looking for power-fantasy junkies. He needed builders. Thinkers. Survivors.
Players who could help him restore Earth.
"A ruined world needs people who know how to fix one."
He wrote that on the opening screen.
The trailer came later.
Using recovered files from the Axiom's archives; promo footage, surveillance clips, logs from the environmental decks. He stitched together a cinematic trailer showing Earth's decay, humanity's retreat, and the mystery of a game that let them return.
"What if Earth never ended?"
"What if you could build it back—with your own hands?"
"Log in. Wake up. Change the world."
He even composed a melancholic synth soundtrack using samples from the ship's entertainment hub, mixing ambient notes with a solemn voiceover.
It wasn't flashy. It was haunting.
Just as it should be.
Of course, there was one major obstacle: getting to Earth himself.
Axiom's laws forbade unsupervised travel outside the ship for minors. Even with BNL's loosening control over the centuries, there were still rules—most of them enforced by aging governance protocols and a semi-sentient bureaucracy.
But one loophole remained:
Pioneer Application.
A class of legally permitted explorers tasked with checking on Earth's recovery. Rare. Mostly ignored. But not extinct.
Denji dug through records and found the process still intact. On his 16th birthday—less than six months away—he'd submit a formal request to the captain.
Not for a joyride but for a mission.
To make a game and save Earth.
---
Now, in the present, Denji weaved through the HoloPod corridor—a wide, circular passage flooded with slow-moving hover chairs and projection ads. Screens blinked along every surface, urging people to try new flavors of slush, upgrade their chair's massage function, or adopt a digital pet AI.
Nobody noticed him walking.
He passed a row of passive-eyed passengers, all reclined, eyes glued to a sitcom loop. A woman laughed. A man mumbled. A toddler poked a holographic cat.
Denji adjusted the black collar of his modified jumpsuit and slipped into a side hall—restricted personnel access.
His holotab buzzed. It had already spoofed his clearance for the day.
Inside, the medical wing hummed with cleanliness.
Drones hovered overhead, their manipulators delicately sorting vials of fluids and samples into sealed cabinets. A few nurse bots glided across the floor, scanning patients in hover beds or adjusting IV-tubes.
Denji walked briskly past the reception.
His destination: BioLab Room 12B.
A forgotten corner of the diagnostics wing, rarely staffed—perfect for privacy. He palmed open the door using a mimic chip the system granted him earlier in the week.
The lights flickered on. Dozens of sample canisters sat in refrigerated racks.
Blood. Tissue. DNA archives.
Collected routinely from all passengers over their lifetimes.
He tapped a control panel and began keying in commands.
"I need samples from subjects 008233, 004571, and 002890," he muttered. "Mix profile. General human compatibility."
The machine blinked. Tubes hissed. A robotic arm retrieved three samples and deposited them into a sealed transport case.
---
Back in his lab, Denji placed the case onto a cradle beside the clone pod.
A glass tank, tall and wide, with input ports and nutrient valves. It had taken him nearly two months to assemble using system blueprints, scavenged ship parts, and a 3D molecular printer from Storage Deck 4.
He then opened the the device system interface , selecting the Clone Acceleration Subroutine.
[Cloning Process Timeline: 1 Month - Full Maturity]
[Optional Boost Mode: 1 Week - Incomplete (Warning: Physical Atrophy Likely)]
He stared at the second option.
Too fast. Too dangerous.
Not yet.
He selected the one-month timeline and initiated sequence.
The chamber hissed as the first nutrient batch filled the tank. Silvery gel swirled, forming a suspension field. A faint pulse of bio-light flickered.
Denji watched as cell growth began on the microscopic display.
This would be NPC One.
The first of many NPC's for the Earth restoration project.