The portal made him sick. The instantaneous trance of interdimensional travel churned his stomach and made him vomit. That's why fasting for six hours prior to the portal travel is a must, according to the experts. However, Luke had always been a rule-breaker and munched a meal before his travel.
As his stomach revolted, he vomited chunks of appalling red meat onto the darkened concrete floor. Chunks of pork menudo exited his innards. He spat a sharp metallic taste of tin can on the floor afterwards. It was the taste of the meat, or an invention of an alternative meat.
'That's a waste,' Luke said, scraping a smudge of oil on his lips. Pure pork had never crossed his mouth for months now. It said a lot about the training camps back on his timeline. Pure pork was a luxury.
Still squatting and overpowering a wobbling feeling, he activated the drone from his beaten knapsack. A metallic sphere just as big as his palm emerged with little propeller wings that fluttered as it escaped his palm. The whirring drone shone a laser-like beam along its trajectory and revealed the entirety of the place, scanning the corners of a dark room.
The beams profiled an abandoned warehouse, invaded by moss, grime, and rubble.
The absence of light, the gaps in the ceiling, and rain pouring inside, wetting the floor, gave him gooseflesh. Despite the dilapidation that mantled the whole structure, the jump site of a warehouse was technically solid and safe - as required for all the jump sites. Moreover, the presence of a roll-up door kept him safe from any external threats, temporarily.
'At least, the scientists back home were still generous enough,' he thought.
Heavy rain rammed against the GI sheet roofing. The coolness of the external environment soaked inside through crevices, moistening the internal concrete. He squeezed a light green tube, and it glowed, meekly revealing portions of the warehouse. His knees felt like noodles as he stood up, and as he did, the world turned. He cursed heavily as his knees shook, and he faltered again to the floor, succumbing to his worsening disorientation. His knapsack thudded against the concrete. Suddenly, he remembered the contents of his beaten knapsack.
'The virus,' He thought.
Frantically, he scrambled to open his knapsack and checked a transparent glass-made canister. A ball, the size of his fist, of Basic Genome Virus suspended inside it, filled with nutritive media. The nutritive media served as a necessity for the virus to survive even without the luxury of a human or organic host.
"Monday. Give me status," Luke said.
"The Basic Virus is still intact, Luke." A female Neurasync AI voice served as an assistant for the Virus Evolver.
"I haven't had the time to read the manuals about this virus. Can you run me again? The portal gave me amnesia."
"Ok, Luke," Monday said.
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Virus Genome: Nebula Virus
Lethal level: 0
Infectivity level: 15
Severe level: 15
Stability: 100
Mutation: 0
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With the status shown by his AI that appeared in his retina, his objective tinged his nerves. Evolve the Nebula Virus into a deadly weapon to wipe out the Bugmen.
Simple.
Clandestine training for virus evolution for three months, learning only how to manipulate the basic virus genome to become a weapon, should be sufficient.
Should it?
'A multi-million dollar project in my hands,' He thought.
"What year is it, Monday?" Luke asked after confirming the virus stability was still at 100 points. Although he knew about the basic virus genome, it guaranteed more stability than the mutated and fatal ones.
"The year 2069," Monday replied. "You are in Strata Continent."
"They should be here by now." He scoffed.
"Are you expecting a meet-up, Luke?"
"Yes. The Movement. They are supposed to fetch me here. I hope they are not ambushed by the Bugmen." Luke sighed and battled his somnolence once again.
"I can use the foundations as my mount for the machine." He said, his palm resting against a concrete foundation.
The necessity to stretch one's limbs after portal time travel was advisable. Otherwise, he would experience a so-called Sarcopenia Effect – muscles tend to lose their strength. He cracked his neck and stretched his elbows. He exhaled a bit in an effort to ease his nausea. He stood up with tremendous energy-consuming effort as if he had two large bottles of Black Horse Beer.
He suddenly missed home, on the same continent but with a different time stamp – the year 2030. He missed having beers with his friends in a little pub called Beer Haven.
Recuperating from his physical weakness, he reminisced about their conversations, which consisted of talks about being chosen by the Military. Most of his friends answered the call and trained for months or years. And the fuss about being sent to the future to enlist was hailed as rockstars in their generation, bringing pride to their families.
Not only that, the Government assured solid pension plans to the said family, providing financial security throughout their lives. With this premise, parents had been motivating their children to become one of the chosen, even if it entailed the risk of death.
When the military, along with other influential scientists, had chosen him not to be a combatant but to become a virus evolver, he could not boast to his friends. He could not brag about it to his neighbors or to his relatives. It was confidential. His blood, they said, was special.
"Humanity's only hope." He snorted at the idea of his trainers about his bloodline.
Preposterous to even think of it; however, he was humanity's alternative hope. Sadly, waging war against the Bugmen with traditional weapons had only given them deaths among their soldiers for decades. Never had there been a glimmer of hope of victory. Hence, a more sinister approach had to be tested.
'I don't know why they chose me as their Evolver. Is it solely because of my blood?' He mused about the thought of a chosen one.
The drone continued to hum inside the empty warehouse, scanning everything for usable parts. Unfortunately, it was empty. The soldiers had scavenged everything that they could use.
'At least there is rain,' he thought.
He studied rain, or any aspects of virus distribution to the population. With rain as his medium, he could spread the virus all over the globe. 'Rain and arid climate,' His ears assessed the external environment.
A loud knock on the beaten, rustic, roll-up door startled him. His basic survival instinct actuated and quickened his steps behind the nearest column. He took a handgun from his knapsack. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. His nervousness had taken rational control. First, the aliens could have identified his jump location, leading to his death in minutes. Secondly, he may have forgotten how to use a handgun.
At least he knew where the safety was.
The knocks persisted. He did not answer despite the indistinct conversations behind the door. They could be humans or the Bugmen.
He was unsure.
"Open it!" A female voice with authority loomed behind the door.