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Chapter 1: New Life, New Problems.
🕑 Added 2024-01-06 02:52:06 +0000 UTCAN: Hi Guys. This is my first fanfiction. After reading so many, I thought I would just give it a shot.
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Location: London
Hospital - Neurology Ward
Name: Unknown
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All those fanfics always made it sound so dramatic—you'd panic, clutch your head, and then get flooded with memories from whoever you replaced after transmigrating.
But nope, not for me. Or maybe everyone's start is different? I just woke up confused, my head fuzzy, surrounded by the sterile sights and rhythmic beeping of an unfamiliar hospital room.
[Ding!]
[Congratulation! You have been successfully transmigrated into the body of an 8-year-old.]
Reality slammed into me with all the subtlety of a brick as I took a moment to stare blankly into space.
Bollocks.
I moved my fingers carefully, feeling the cool sheets beneath. The room felt simultaneously too big and suffocatingly small, intensifying my disorientation. Crisp white walls, blinking machines—it was surreal, like stepping into someone else's life uninvited. Which, if the words in front of me were correct, which it seemed they were, then that was exactly what I was doing.
Guilt twisted uncomfortably in my chest as I hesitated to even move. What happened to the original owner of this body? Did they disappear to make room for me, or had I unknowingly snatched away someone else's chance to live? How did this happen? What awaits me in this new life? Am I an experiment of Orochimaru?
Looking around the room, I took better stock of the medical equipment and the subdued lighting. Questions flood my mind, and a mix of confusion and curiosity sets in. Before my thoughts spiralled further, another ping sounded.
[Ding!]
[The body you are currently inhabiting was recently created for your purposes. A back story has been expertly created so that the local populace will not notice your arrival within this reality.]
Oh good. So, no messing with a family's life, no faking affection I have never met. I might still need to act like an amnesiac, though. I don't seem to have the whole additional memories thing. As I navigate the initial shock, the prospect of exploring this world through the eyes of an 8-year-old again begins to unfold.
Gonna have to go through puberty.
Again... Bollocks.
'Wait... 'successfully'? Does that mean there was a chance it could have failed?'
[Ding!]
[And to make it even better?! You have been given a gift to help you along in this new life!]
'I have? Like what? Am I Spiderman or a supersoldier? And don't think I've forgotten that there is a chance that this could have failed. Considering you are implying that you can warp reality, things could have been fucked up beyond all recognition!'
[Ding!]
[Think 'Status' to view your current status]
'Am I a gamer? And can you stop with the bell? There is no one else here. it's not like I am going to miss the sound of a monotone woman in my head.'
'Fine.' I huffed. 'Status.'
[Status]
[Name: Jonathan Dovahkinn Grey]
[Type: Human] [Subspecies: Homo Magi] [Age:8] [Sex: Male]
[Essense: Arkmage, Blank]
[Assimilation slots Available: 1]
[Availiable templates: Elder Scrolls: Skyrim (Dragonborn)]
[Assimilated Template: N/A] [Store points (SP): 100]
[Attributes:
Mind: Fully Grown Adult
Body: Average 8-year-old
Soul: Fully Grown Adult
Magic Quality: Fully Grown Wizard]
[Description: Jonathan, is an 8-year-old with a calm and observant personality, known for his intelligence and rational thinking. He has just been in a car crash which unfortunately resulted in his parents' death.He has a head injury and was brought to the neurology ward after a CT Scan for hospital staff to keep a closer eye on his situation.He is slightly confused and coming to terms with his current situation.Health: Stable]
Oh, so it's like those Gacha fanfictions I read, nice. Wait, Dragonborn? Well, I would like to make it official. Based on all the things I see here on the status, I'm going to be a badass motherfucker. 'Nuff said. GG motherfu-
[You can configure your status panel or expand on any element of the panel whenever you want, with a simple thought. As a gift, you have been awarded 1 free template of a high grade at random and 2 essence and 100 store points! ]
'Oh, thanks lady. Any chance I could be given the choice to go back home? Or be given information on how I ended up here to begin with?'
[Think 'shop', to open the Shop page]
Definitely more of an automated response system. Though it did stop the ping when I asked so its response probably depends on my questions. Looks like this is one of those, show the guy how to use it then he's on my own, kind of situations.
'Sigh-Shop'
[Shop - 99% Off First Purchase For Each Category]
[Templates]
[Armour/Clothing]
[Weapons]
[Summons]
[System DLC]
Nice, a discou-
'I can summon people?! Will I be doing what you did to me? I don't want to be taking people from their homes.
[All summons are given a choice when summoned and will not be able to betray you directly or let anyone know of the system or their home realities. Willingly or unwillingly.]
'Wait, they get a choice, but I don't?!'
[Welcome to a new reality!]
[Good luck! May you enjoy your new life!]
I couldn't help the sigh that escaped my lips.
You know what? I'm just gonna start assimilating the template.
[Currently Assimilating: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (Dragonborn) 1%(New)]
Nice.
'System, can you at least tell me what you mean by one of, and what year it is?'
'...'
'System?'
At least I'm still black in this life.
I sighed again, this time much less stressfully. I needed some rest. Something I had noticed since I was younger was that I tend to start speaking like someone high on drugs when I don't get enough sleep. Who knows, I might just wake up back in my room anyway.
[-]-[P]-[W]-[M]-[-]
Location: London
Hospital - Neurology Ward
Name: Jonathan Grey (MC)
A few Hours Later.
[-]-[P]-[W]-[M]-[-]
Well, still here...Bollocks.
The door creaked open, and I assumed a nurse entered. Her soft footsteps approached my bed, and I stirred, blinking against the sterile light. Yep, I noticed the nurse quietly bustling around the room. Her auburn hair was neatly tucked beneath a professional cap, and her hazel eyes carried a warmth that seemed to welcome the bewildered. Dressed in a crisp, pale blue uniform adorned with the hospital emblem, she exuded a sense of reliability and experience. A silver nametag pinned to her chest identified her as 'Nurse Mitchell'.
"Nurse Mitchell?" I asked, barely above a whispered with as horse tone as my 8 year-old vocal cords could muster, watching as she approached my bed with a reassuring smile.
"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" she asked softly, her hands moving gently but confidently as she checked the monitors beside my bed, seeming to try and make her presence calming. The steady beeping seemed to match her calming presence perfectly.
"Jonathan?" she greeted with a gentle smile, trying again. "How are you feeling?"
I tried to gather my thoughts, the ache in my head forcefully reminding me of the car accident. "I'm... not sure."
She nodded, understanding. "You've been through quite an ordeal. It's normal to feel disoriented. Can you tell me if you're experiencing any pain or discomfort?"
Realising that I needed to sell the whole amnesiac due to a head injury thing, I winced, acknowledging the persistent ache instead of suppressing or trying to ignore and power through it. "My head hurts a bit."
The nurse nodded, calmly checking my vital signs. "Alright, I'll note that down. I'm going to inform the doctor about your condition. In the meantime, if you need anything or feel worse, don't hesitate to press the call button."
With a reassuring smile, she left the room, her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her. The hospital room returned to a hushed atmosphere, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I waited for further updates from the medical team.
Yeah, I wouldn't want to be the one to bring up the dead parents either.
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The door to the hospital room swung open, and a doctor entered with an air of calm assurance. Clad in a pristine white coat, Dr. Richards carried a tablet containing John's medical records. His friendly but professional demeanour radiated a sense of expertise.
"Hello, Jonathan," he greeted, a clipboard in hand as he approached the bedside. "I'm Dr. Richards, and I've been overseeing your care since you arrived. How are you feeling?"
"Confused, a bit sore," I admitted, meeting his gaze.
Nodding understandingly, Dr. Richards took a seat, crossing one leg over the other. "You've been through quite an ordeal. We ran some tests, including a CT scan, to get a clear picture of your condition."
He pulled up the images on my chart hanging from the foot of my bed and went on to explain, "The CT scan revealed some swelling in your brain due to the impact of the accident. Fortunately, we were able to address it promptly. Our medical team administered the necessary treatments to alleviate the swelling and ensure your brain functions properly."
As he spoke, Dr. Richards maintained a reassuring tone, trying to carefully choose his words to convey the gravity of the situation without overwhelming me. "You responded well to the treatment, and your current condition is stable. We'll continue to monitor your progress closely."
The good doctor took a moment to let it sink in before adding, "Recovery will take time, Mr Grey. Rest is crucial, and we'll be here to support you every step of the way."
His words hung in the air, providing a glimpse into the medical journey ahead. Dr. Richards, with his professional yet empathetic approach, left me with a sense of trust in the team overseeing my recovery.
"Um, Dr. Richards?" I hesitated, uncertainty lacing my words as I tried to make it seem like I tried to gather the courage to ask, "Where are my parents? Can I see them?"
Dr Richards' warm expression shifted ever so slightly as a shadow passing over his eyes, slumping his shoulder while taking a gentle breath. His demeanour seemed to transition into a delicate balance of empathy and professionalism.
"Mr Gre- Johnathan," he began, voice softening, "I understand this might be difficult to hear. You and your parents were involved in the accident. I'm so sorry to tell you that they didn't make it."
A heavy silence settled in the room, and I didn't reply. He probably thought the weight of his words were sinking in, but I was thinking about my parents in my previous life. I'll never see them again, never say goodbye, none of that. Shock and grief threatened to engulf me as I grappled with the harsh reality that my parents were no more. Then again, they're still alive, hopefully, so it's not really as bad as my current body's problem.
"You can say they died, sir. No point in sugar coating it." I reassured. Though sad, I wasn't nearly as sad as I would have been if I was an actual eight-year-old.
The good doctor's hand rested lightly on my shoulder, a gesture of comfort in the face of heart-wrenching news. His eyes conveyed genuine sympathy, understanding the impact of the loss I was experiencing.
Dr. Richards shifts his focus, and I can sense the conversation taking a turn toward my mental well-being. His expression becomes more contemplative as he explains, "I would like to leave you to your thoughts, Jonathan, but I'd like to ask you a few questions to assess your memory and cognit- Er, to test how much you remember and if your head is hurt." He seemed to stop himself as he seemed to notice he was talking to an eight-year-old.
"You don't need to dumb it down, memory and 'cognitive function'?" I said, which only seemed to confuse him more. "I understood the other parts aswell."
"Er, yes, that's right." He blinked. "This will help us understand how the accident may have affected your recall and overall mental state.."
I nod, a slight tension settling in. The idea of probing my own mind feels both necessary and unnerving. I mean, what if I gain the kids' memories and my personality completely changes?
The doctor begins with recent events, prompting me to recall details about the accident, the hospital, and the people I've encountered. As the questions delve into the past, he gently guides me through my new body's memory banks, checking for any hesitations or gaps in my recollection.
"Can you tell me what you remember about the moments leading up to the accident?" he asks, his eyes watching mine closely.
I close my eyes, trying to summon the images. Well, looks like no memory dump. It's like sifting through fragments of a movie, some clear and others blurry. "I... I remember the car...," I begin, piecing together the bits of memory.
Dr. Richards listens attentively, encouraging me to share without judgment. The questions continue, probing into various aspects of my life before the accident. It was a usefull exercise, I found myself navigating the recesses of my mind with the guidance of the doctor's inquiries.
"Jonathan, it's important to understand that you might not be able to remember some things, and it can take time for things to get better. Your head is healing, and we're here to help you every step of the way," Dr. Richards reassures, sensing the weight of my uncertainty.
Dr. Richards observes me closely, his questions probing deeper into my memory. Despite my earnest efforts, a frustrating fog lingers over the moments leading up to the accident. The doctor's gentle prompts only unravel a patchwork of disjointed images, and I can feel the weight of frustration settling in.
"I'm sorry, Jonathan, I know this can be challenging," Dr. Richards empathizes with an understanding. "Memory loss is not uncommon after what has happened to you. Your head is just taking its time to get better. That's all."
I nod, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over me. The realization that I can't summon all the memories, no matter how hard I try, is disheartening. If there are telepaths in this reality, then they will know I have amnesia straight away. or worse, they'll know that this isn't my home reality.
'System, Can telepaths read my mind?'
[Your mind is partially blocked from telepathic intrusions. If telepaths try to delve into your mind without being linked to the system or the express permission of your own free will, then they will only be able to see the unclear memories of the fabricated past up until the crash. Even if permission is given, system details will still be blocked. Due to your mind being linked to the system, precautions were made to ensure system integrity.]
It makes sense, I can't have other people using the system by mind-controlling me.
"We'll continue to monitor your... cognitive function as you get better. Remembering things that your head does want you to can be hard, and it may take time for it to happen," the doctor reassures, bringing me out of my thoughts.
As I grapple with the nature of my mind's natural security measures, Dr. Richards outlines a plan for ongoing assessments and therapies to support my cognitive recovery. The journey ahead becomes not only about physical healing but also about unravelling the mysteries locked within the recesses of my mind.
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"There isn't anything better to have than a problem that's worth solving, that's really worth solving. The more of that you take on, the more you have a reason to get out of bed in the morning."
- Jordan Peterson
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Author Notes
Let me know what you think. Please leave some constructive criticism in the comments. I have seen some of the comments in other fan-fictions, please keep it respectful. I would like to know how to get better, which would give you a better reading experience in return.
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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC and original ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.
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Thank you for reading.
As always, stay awesome.
Until next time, Light's out.
