Dark Berserker: Rise of the Forgotten Progenitor

Chapter 1: Strange constitution

July 8, 2124

7:30 AM

NEW YORK

RINGGG!!

RINGGG!!

"Setting up this alarm has just joined the list of the worst choices I've ever made," a sleepy voice muttered as his thick, muscular arms fumbled for the blaring alarm while his eyes remained closed.

After struggling with it for a while, he couldn't shut off the annoying timer as it continued blaring as if taunting him. Finally, after a battle between both sides, the man conceded and opened his eyes.

A pair of attractive green eyes shone in the dimly lit room, revealing their brilliance to the world.

"Wow, another beautiful morning," his sarcastic voice echoed, as the room lacked all other necessities except a bed and a stool beside it.

With a reluctant groan escaping his lips, Cristian removed the bedsheet and grabbed the silver-colored, ancient-looking timer. The urge to slam it down grew within him, but the thought of his extremely tight budget flashed before his eyes, and he calmly placed the timer back on the stool.

He got out of bed and moved towards the wall-to-ceiling window while scratching his curly brown hair. As he opened the curtain, his eyelids quickly went to work as he squinted; the piercing sunlight almost blinded him.

He lived in a skyscraper, with his flat at an astonishing height that not even the best technology in this world could save him if he fell. But while he suffered, it was a different matter for his room, which bathed in the warmth and glow of the sun.

"The sun, finally! It's been raining for two days," Cristian exclaimed in exhilaration. The strange weather phenomenon had been going on for two years now, and both the internet and media were flooded with news about an upcoming apocalypse a few days after it began.

Heck, he even did what those protagonists in novels and movies do: spending money on food and other necessities. However, that turned out to be people creating rumors and providing false facts.

However, the scientists did say that things would be back to normal in about five years' time, which calmed the hearts of many.

Well, Cristian couldn't be angrier; an apocalypse might have been a good chance to escape this reality.

The bustling cityscape made him sigh. "They must be enjoying their life," he mused and went to the bathroom.

Minutes later, Cristian walked into the kitchen/dining area. He took almost two minutes staring at the items in the refrigerator. After scanning through the numerous brands of bottled water, he finally chose one with an orange label.

Pouring the chilled water into a sizable glass cup big enough to be called a beaker, he discarded the emptied bottle and lifted the glass.

In a matter of a few gulps, 50cl of water vanished into his mouth. "Wow, I've never had a better breakfast," he said with a satisfied nod and made his way towards the living room.

He picked up the remote and switched on the 32-inch plasma TV, and the first thing displayed made him snort. Cristian, enlarged and somehow beautified, was proudly placed behind the anchor; a cardboard form of him was much more famous and glamorous than he was.

"When have I ever done such a hairstyle? These people are slapping lies on my face at this point."

Cristian was already famous worldwide, and the health organization would not stop advertising him to showcase the fruit of their effort.

The doctor in charge of his case was even given an award and sent to the next stage, being able to work with the best in the capital while he was left here to rot.

He wasn't proud of his 'sickness,' despite it making him famous because no one knew the effort he put in to keep this shape.

His 'sickness,' or as the health workers call it, his constitution, continuously developed muscles, not just any muscles, but he couldn't stop growing thicker and fatter.

At a point, the bones and organs couldn't support the load anymore, leading to failure and death. There were extremely few with this 'cursed' constitution, and to this day, only one survived. The same person was always on screen and being titled the only success.

People had almost mistaken his name for success! How annoying is that? The effort they put in couldn't match what he had and would always do for the rest of his short, miserable virgin life.

Cristian reduced his diet to the bare minimum and made sure he spent three hours at the gym every day. In his short twenty-four years of living, he had gone through six surgeries, all to remove the growing fat.

Standing before the large mirror, Cristian stared at himself. Brown hair, a sharp jawline, and enchanting eyes, but it became different from his neck. While he wasn't too bulky or fat, Christian loved a lean body, the same one he had growing up.

But now, the man before him looked bulky and ripped, with muscles in all the right places. Had he been thinner then, there wasn't a doubt that he would have taken a spot amongst the top models.

PING~

The notification sound from his phone made him turn and reach out for it. [You are late, WHERE ARE YOU!!????]

"Heh," a small chuckle left his lips, and he texted back. [Tone it down with the question marks.] 'I'm pretty sure that old man would make me clean the storage,' Christian mused inwardly and came out of his flat.

Pressing his palm on the panel, a green glow flashed, and the door locked.

The elevator made its usual sound and opened. Letting out five individuals, including Cristian, who happened to be the biggest, which wasn't surprising, as it had become a common thing, like the weather.

The burning heat from the sun welcomed him as he stepped out of the skyscraper.

Prompting him to raise his head. If there was one thing that never got boring or lost its elegance, it was the beautiful vast skies littered with hovering white clouds.

Boarding a SkyTrain, Cristian quickly arrived at the restaurant. Yes, he worked as a waiter, a really famous one.

"Hey, success, how are you, man?" someone yelled from the crowd.

"I'm good, and my name is Cristian," he replied, knowing it would be hopeless. He was preparing for his next surgery, for his fat would make him extremely overweight in the next three months.

And the doctor said that if he didn't do the surgery, he had only two years to live, and Cristian abhorred death, at least while alive there was hope.

He followed a different door and entered the restaurant from the kitchen. The large kitchen had numerous bots and chefs preparing meals with such appealing aromas it formed a cloud on the kitchen's ceiling, causing the room to smell amazing.

"Hey boss, you called," Cristian said to the aged man with large glasses. The man ignored him and continued reading the thick book placed on the sleek desk. He had been swiftly asked to head to the owner's office, which led to this scene.

Cristian couldn't believe this man had a paper book! He thought these things had gone extinct, everything had entered the era of electronics, even schools! However, students had to go to the building to make sure everyone moved along. As many would love to ditch.

"Umm, boss," Cristian called out again, knowing the man would surely send him to clean the main storage, which they always kept filthy for a good cleaner like him. He didn't see any good reason for the old man to keep him standing.

"Go clean the storage!" the man faced him and spoke, and to his shock, Cristian bowed and said, "I will, boss."

"How many times will I tell you don't call me boss, I'm not the leader of any thug group!" the man yelled and slammed his palm on the book, causing two pages to rip off and this only served to increase the old man's rage.

'But I'm not the one who tore your book,' Cristian mused inwardly, but he maintained the smile on his face despite being tired of it.

"Get out!" the old man barked, his voice quite loud for a man in his seventies.

Cristian left the office and made his way to the storage; on his way, a waitress appeared, her hair tied in a bun, and she threw a mild punch to his stomach. "I told you not to come late; you're gonna get yourself fired."

"I know, I know," Cristian shrugged it off and walked away. He only had the waitress as a friend, as when the result of his constitution reached his hands, he distanced himself from people, and now he did the same for the waitress.

Fifteen minutes later, a dirt-covered Cristian stared at the dazzling room, nothing like its former self. "How do they always get this room dirty? Wait, do-"

He abruptly stopped talking as his face hit the wall, and he let out a groan. "What just-" and once again, the same tremor occurred, and this one was much worse than the last.

Cristian's eyes widened as the walls cracked. "What's going."