DANG, this is a fine ass first chapter! Most of my first chapters are like… maybe a thousand words? If you're lucky? But this baby, holy shit. It's like almost 3,000! Hope y'all enjoy it! (This fandom needs more freaking fan fiction!) Fair warning though, I update at a snail's pace. I might crank out a few chapters at a semi-normal speed in the beginning, but you've been warned.

Oh, and please check out the disclaimer at the end of this chapter if you plan on sticking with this story. It's tremendously important. Anywho, let's go!

Grandfather never talks about my parents. I've never seen a picture of them, and can't recall them on my own. Whenever I try to, my mind goes blank and my head feels like it's being split open. My childhood home, school, town… anything of that nature is a mystery. Maybe that's why I can't walk through the remains of this ruined city without crying.

The pungent stench of death lies heavy in my nostrils. Tiny bodies, skin seared down to blackened bones, litter the rubble around me. Inside the former building, a single wall of lockers barely stands. I pass a large clock, burnt and cracked, and step away from the silent, ghostly schoolyard.

I check my Fore Comp for signs of life but, without a signal, it can't sweep any farther than a few yards. Wiping the tears from my eyes, their color similar to the pale, broken bricks at my feet, I curse the useless thing. It can't even reach Grandfather, who can just barely be seen crouched near the edge of the town. Gathering what little information he can, no doubt. It won't be long until he calls me back to his side and we return home to analyze his findings. This, too, is useless, as the cyborg rarely leaves even the tiniest trace. Still, Grandfather cannot stop himself from searching the wreckage for clues, just as I cannot stop myself from searching for survivors.

My Fore Comp gives a small Beep! Beep!, finally picking up on Grandfather's life force. With a sigh, I start pushing hair over my eyes and dawdle along the broken path. Soon, the color of cherrywood blinds me, but I know it's useless. He won't be fooled by such a childish move to hide my tears. The rubble shifts around his feet as he stands.

"Are you ready, Penelope?"

"Yes, Grandfather." Beep! Beep! We pause. I stare down at my Fore Comp, then quickly bring it to my face. Could it be…?

"Penelope. Don't get you hopes up." But I'm already climbing up a mound of debris and jumping onto a pile of wood and brick. Grandfather calls my name, but I refuse to acknowledge him. My only focus is the tiny, blinking dot, and the shrinking space between us. It isn't until the directional arrow, indicating myself, is practically on top of the dot that I stop.

The world around me, devoid of life and color, is bathed in amber as I put on my goggles. Yellow numbers, words, and symbols appear on the screen, giving me an in-depth awareness of my surroundings. A particular symbol flashes red in the upper right-hand corner, reminding me of the goggles' lack of remaining power.

I scan the area for chemical components, but it's no use. The remnants of vaporized humans and structures mix in with the air and dust, making it impossible to single out one possible person. I switch to the infrared setting, the world becoming a beautiful, but terrifying shade of dark purple. The tops of the debris mostly shine dark pink, somewhat warm, but only from sun. Turning slowly, many of the remaining bodies are only slightly brighter, too cold to still be alive.

There! To my right is a yellow-orange blob; still warm. Possibly alive.

"Grandpa! Come quick!" Running to the person's side, I pull off my goggles and freeze. The person–is it still a person?–is just as charred and broken as all the other corpses, trapped beneath pieces of wood and metal. A ragged breath forces its way out of the body and I dive for the wreckage pinning it down.

"Can you hear me?" The skin around one ear appears to have been burnt off. "Hey! Answer me!" My foot slips but I catch myself and continue unearthing the person—man. No… Boy? I know I shouldn't move him, but he's already so destroyed, I don't think it's possible for more damage to be done. So I hoist him from the rubble. He screams like I've ripped him in half.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msosorryI'msosorry!" I immediately set him down, almost throwing him to the ground. He moans. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I yank off my jacket and, with the help of a small pocket knife, start tearing it into long shreds of cloth. There is so much blood and so much of his insides exposed to the elements, I doubt he will survive much longer.

"Please, don't die. Please, hold on, okay?" I sniff, wiping my eyes, smearing blood on my face, and wrap what remains of his body. "Please… Please…"

The boy cries out in agony then continues wheezing and whimpering as Grandfather scurries towards us, his old bones creak with every step. Halfway down a shambled heap, he stares at me and the boy in shock.

"Grandpa! We gotta help him, hurry!"

He snaps out of his trance but slows considerably upon reaching us. "Penelope," he begins.

"Don't you dare say it, old man! Just help me!"

"Penelope look at him. Look at your hands. His survival is… it's unlikely."

I scowl at Grandfather. "How can you say that?! This poor boy is fighting for his life, and you wont even give him a chance! If we can just get him back to the facility then—"

"Penelope, you can't just go around fixing people. Even if it will save their life, you must think! How would you feel, waking up to find yourself in the body of a cyborg?"

"I'd be grateful! Who cares as long as you're still alive!?"

"Y-yes," a weak voice croaks. My head snaps to the boy. One of his eye sockets is void, but the remaining eye is focused on me.

"You're awake! Wait, yes? Yes, what? You'll let us fix you?"

"Y-yes." His eye burns into mine. He's determined to survive.

"See, Grandfather? He wants us to help him!"

Grandfather evens his gaze. Curiously, he looks down at the dying boy. "You do understand what you're asking for? To become a cyborg, to become like the one who did this to you and your town… is that truly what you want?"

"Y-yes…" He grits his teeth. "I-I'll kill him… for what… he's done…"

Grandfather frowns. He does not care for this answer, but he understands. He understands better than anyone, and his empathetic nature is impossible to hide.

"P-please… I beg… of you…"

"Grandfather…" I grab his coat, staining it with the boy's blood. "Please. We cannot just leave him to die… We have to at least try!"

Grandfather sighs then hurriedly turns away. "I'll bring the chopper as close as I can. We'll leave as soon as you finish tending his wounds."

Tending to his wounds? That was almost a joke. His entire body was one burnt, severed, bleeding wound. But I understood. I put my goggles back on, letting the information on the screen guide me towards the wounds most in need of the remaining cloth. My invention shut down after a few moments, completely out of power, turning the world a dimmer shade of amber. Now, they're just an old, useless pair of tinted goggles.

I push them back and tie the last knot. Grandfather's aircraft hovers towards us, then lands just beyond the waste piles surrounding us. Turning away from the dirt and wind, my hands carefully curl around the boy's body.

"Are you ready?"

He stiffens in response, and I take that as a yes. Learning from my last mistake, I lift him gently. He's surprisingly light; likely due to the fact that there is not much of him left. He hisses in pain with every step, but at least he isn't crying bloody murder. I walk over the lowest mound, keeping my movements as slow and predictable as possible.

From his place in the pilot seat, Grandfather opens the canopy door and I carefully climb inside. There isn't much room to spread him on the cabin floor, so for now I sit in my chair, him still in my arms, and fasten my seatbelt. I give Grandfather a thumbs up, unable to reach my headset. He closes the door, shaking his head softly, then powers up the main rotor.

I hold the boy to me as we rise in altitude, trying to keep him still amongst the rattles and bumps. The turbulence becomes smaller and less frequent, until I can finally stand. The boy occupies my seat, while I grab my headset and recite any necessary information to Grandfather.

In the tiny area behind our seats, known as the cabin, I begin moving around the boxes of data, gadgets, and whatnot to make space for the boy. I take a blanket from a first aid kit and spread it out on the floor. Cautiously, I pick the boy up again and set him upon the makeshift bed so he can lay in peace during the journey. Well, relative peace. His sharp, viscous breaths fill the tiny space, making me wonder if perhaps his throat or lungs are filling with blood.

"My name's Penn," I blurt, startling everyone in the helicopter—myself included. "And that's my grandfather, Dr. Stench. What's you name?"

The boy gives me a sort of disapproving look–at least I think he does–as if this were not the time to be asking such a question. Maybe so, but I still frown.

"It might not seem like it," I say quickly, "but I'm trying to determine your condition. Just go along with me, okay?"

The boy doesn't answer right away. Holding onto his displeasure for another few moments. Finally, he forces out a word: "Genos."

"Genos?" I shout over the engines. "Is that your name?"

He nods before coughing. I lift him slightly, attempting to help open his airways. Once he finishes, I settle his head on my lap and caress it, trying to ease his discomfort. It's likely his lungs are crushed, at least partially, or maybe filled with ash and gunk.

"How old are you, Genos?"

"F… Fifteen." This surprises me. His voice sounds older than that.

I remember the tiny bodies in the schoolyard. At that size, they couldn't have been a day over ten. I wonder what games they liked to play; if they told their families they loved them that morning; what they were doing just before the attack. Did they have time to turn and run, or was it over before they even noticed? Was it a quick death, or did they lay there in agony? Returning my attention to Genos, I find him expectantly staring up at me.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"How old… are you?"

I lift my brows. He's conscious and clearheaded enough to keep a simple conversation going. That's good. "Seventeen. That makes me your senior, so you better treat me as such, got it?"

A small bit of breath bursts out from his throat. At first I think he's coughing again, but realize he's scoffing at me. Humor, or resentment… either way, another good sign. I smile and pet him again, frowning slightly at the flakes of skin and hair sticking to the dried blood on my hands.

The rest of the ride is long and silent, not including Genos' breathing or the roar of the engines. It feels at least twice as long as the time it took to get there. Though that could just be because we have a dying passenger onboard.

"Beginning our descent. Penelope, come here and fasten your seatbelt."

I groan. Landing is usually much less turbulent than taking off, except for the bump when the skids finally touch down—the helicopter's 'feet' so to speak. Technically, we would probably be fine if we stayed where we are.

"Penelope," Grandfather warns.

"Fine, fine, fine."

As predicted, the landing was quick and calm, aside from the landing bump. The moment Grandfather turns the engines off, he inputs a password on keypad just to the left of the console. The helipad makes a hissing sound, then lurches. Slowly, it lowers into the earth, four thick steel walls rising around us, then picks up speed. Awkwardly maneuvering around Genos, I manage to sign my Fore Comp back into the main database and begin preparing components within the main lab for the operation. The helipad-elevator comes to a halt and the small square of sky in the distance becomes closed off by a procession of doors and seals.

Genos watches the display intently as we three exit the copter. The last seal locks only a few feet from the top of the aircraft.

"Hope you're not scared of tight spaces," I joke. He looks at me, but doesn't otherwise react. Grandfather places his palm on a screen and stares into a tiny orb. They scan him and present another keypad. He enters the password for this entryway and an outline of a door 'magically' appears and opens for us.

Without wasting any time, we rush to the main lab. Genos does not appreciate my jogging in the slightest. I can only keep apologizing as he moans. He's determined to survive, but his grasp on consciousness has been slipping. Time is of the essence.

The doors to the lab open swiftly. Per my instructions, the room has been prepared with all the gadgets and gizmos we'll be needing. A Do-Bop-Bot, only about as tall as my thigh, wheels in with one last tray of syringes and tools. It halts when it sees me and gives a 'tip-of-the-hat' gesture with its claw-like hand before resuming its orders and parking itself near the back wall.

While this is going on, I set Genos down on the operating table and spreading him out evenly. Already bloody, I don't bother with my lab coat and simply wash my hands before putting on my gloves. The thick kind that keeps me from getting electrocuted or slicing my fingers off by accident. My goggles are still dead, so they get tossed to the Do-Bop-Bot, which instinctively catches them and takes them away.

Grandfather brings forward a machine with a metallic hose which turns into a plastic-like mouth piece with a long tube sprouting from it. He brings it towards Genos' head before passing it to me. In the simplest of terms, it's an oxygen mask that forces the user to breathe. Whether they want to or not.

"Open wide," I murmur.

Genos attempts to comply, but barely manages to part his lips. I maneuver the tube into his mouth and let it sit loosely for now. Eventually, it will have to be inserted into his windpipe. I shake my hands, trying to stop the tremors. Fuck. Fuck, this is happening. I've built plenty of things from scraps and scratch in my life, but never from another living being. Grandfather has. Maybe that's why he's so calm.

I've studied it, and he's taught me about it. I know how to do this. Theoretically, anyway. Nerves are sort of just like wires. Technically. Kind of. Fuck. We're really turning someone into a… A kid into a… I lean over the table, making sure the boy can see me.

"Hey, so, look. Genos. You understand what we're going to be doing, right? How you–your body–is going to be totally different? Like sensory-wise and… stuff…? I know it's this or death, but… are you absolutely sure you want this?"

He doesn't speak or nod, I don't think he can anymore, but his eye becomes more focused. The determination from before has faded–he's faded–but it's still there.

"Blink once for no, twice for yes."

He blinks twice, slowly.

"Okay. Good, just checking. No take backs, you know?" I force out a laugh. It sounds like a dying chimp. Quickly shaking my head, I continue, "Anyway, you wanna kill that Borg that destroyed your town, right?"

Again, he blinks twice. Faster this time.

"Okay, cool, awesome. Right. Okay, so, we're gonna replace all the parts of you that are… totaled. Um, which is most of you, and, uh, basically gonna turn you into a fighter model. Given that I'm the one who suggested this whole… help you… thing… I feel it's kinda my responsibility, or whatever, to give you a heads up. So, uhhhh… You're never really going to experience the world in the same way you have been?" It comes out as question, but it wasn't supposed to.

He doesn't react.

"Yeah, uh, well, your sense of sight for instance is gonna be like, off the charts in comparison, which 'll be cool, but… if you wanna be a fighter model, you're not really gonna experience touch. I mean, you will, just… not the way humans do. 'Cause, like, touch is actually just a muted form of pain, or pain is just an overload of the touch sensoria, and you don't really wanna feel pain if you're gonna be in fights with lasers and stuff, so, uh… well, anyways, you'll get it once you… wake up, 'nd stuff."

I pick up the largest syringe from the tray on my right, the one that will shut everything down.

"So… um… You still sure? Last chance."

He blinks. Twice.

I place it against his neck, take a deep breath and glance over at Grandfather. He pulls a large, bulky piece of machinery down from the ceiling. This is what will keep his brain alive while we operate. As long as his brain survives, he'll survive. Or should, anyway. More or less.

While Grandfather prepares to attach this to the base of Genos' head, I kiss his cheek. "Good luck." He's going to need it. Grandfather and I share a nod.

"On three," he says. "One…"

I double-check the needle. Yes, it's in place.

"Two…"

Swallowing hard, I ready my fingers. The machine in Grandfather's hands begins to whirl.

"Three!"

Genos' body, practically lifeless before, springs to life. A howling scream rips from his chest and ricochets off the walls.

Oh yeah. I forgot to tell him how much this would hurt.

DISCLAIMER: I came up with the idea for this story in late December, 2014. Given that OnePunch-Man is still ongoing at this time, and likes throwing in the occasional plot twist, I hope you can forgive me if my interpretations of people, places, and/or events end up being wrong. (For example, I would've totally portrayed King as the man we thought he was when first introduced, and… well… that would've been pretty damn wrong.)

Whatever information is available while I'm writing is what I'll go by. And if certain info is not available or unclear, my lovely brain will fill in the gaps. If I end up wrong about a thing, and it's not something too critical to my story, I'll either edit accordingly or just leave a message at the end of the chapter being like: yo guys, guess who was wrong? Let's just ignore that, yeah?

If I'm way, waaaaay wrong about something that happens to be a major component for my story… well... we'll burn that bridge when we get there. Cool? Cool.