Chrome Blaire Ivory -

He woke on a table. Not a hospital bed—a table . Cold, seamless, and gleaming like liquid mercury. Chrome.

“Where am I?” His voice echoed strangely.

“Vitals stabilizing,” a voice said, flat and synthetic. “Residual trauma suppressed.” chrome blaire ivory

He pulled on the coat. The ivory of his face reflected in a polished steel wall—handsome, cold, and eternal.

“I find the driver of that truck. The one that turned me into soup.” He woke on a table

He read the fine print. It was worse than any loan shark’s deal. But the alternative was the void. The real void, not the digital one.

Blaire tilted her head. “Revenge? How delightfully human. Fine. But every bullet you fire, every mile you run, it all gets added to the tab.” She handed him a long coat, black as a dead star. “Welcome back from the dead, Leo. Try not to break the chrome.” Chrome

Blaire tapped a floating screen. A schematic of a human body appeared, overlaid with glowing blue lines. “You were hit by an autonomous freight hauler at 11:47 PM. Your organic body was, to use a technical term, soup . But you had a Neural Archive subscription. Top tier. We downloaded you twelve seconds before brain death.”