"Oh shit. You're not dead?" Said a woman with short sky blue hair and thin squared glasses, hovering over a table and reaching down with one arm as if she had dropped something on the floor.  

The boy blinked his eyes very slowly, trying to piece together everything that happened. All the events after he had gotten bit played back like a slideshow. It made sense, just not coherently. He gently pressed against his neck where Raye bit him. "Should I be?" he hesitantly asked.

When she came back up from the floor, she quickly put the item in her black and white dress uniform. The uniform was very reminiscent of Raye's, except This woman had a small hoodie attached. "Statistically, you were supposed to die about seven times over," she revealed. 

Almost frantically, the boy shouted, "Could you elaborate further!?"

"Sure," she said. "You're infected."

"Infected?" The boy repeated. "Like a cold or a virus?"

"Kinda, but more like a sexually transmitted disease," She said, picking up a stool from the corner of the room, putting it closer.

The boy stayed silent for a long time, just looking at the woman with glasses. Who, in return, just happily sat nearby.

"You want a better explanation, don't you?" she asked.

"Am I immuno-compromised now?" he asked out of pure confusion, interrupting her.

The woman sighed immediately, "So, you know how we're susceptible to malware and such?" The boy nodded, not to interrupt. "Basically the same thing. She infected you with her code which was incompatible with your own."

The boy looked out the window and then back to the woman. "And then the code suddenly became compatible with my own?"

The woman shrugged. "Probably, I don't know; I'm not a doctor."

The boy's lips stretched to the corners of his mouth in minor irritation. "Okay, then what happened to Alpha Cell?"

She shrugged one more time. "It flew off in the direction of the East Sea shortly after we tagged you."

"Tagged me?" he repeated. "The terminology you use constantly makes things sound worse than how you intend… I hope you understand that," he explained.

"That collar you're wearing is a controller; you can't go berserk if you can't use your code," She explained while winking.

The boy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright!" He exclaimed and then sighed. "Who are you, and where am I?"

She laughed, "Right, I'm Abiza, and you're in my room, in my bed specifically." She pointed her finger at him. "Now you."

"Salem," he replied with no intention of continuing any further. 

A nine-millimeter handgun materialized in her hand within seconds. Abiza aimed directly at his head. She said, "Consider this a verbal contract, and as a Dragun, you must choose, work with us, or I'll kill you."

A flash of fear showed itself on Salem's face. No choice, just a deadly ultimatum, a rigged one. "I'll join," he nervously stammered out.

The handgun dematerialized the moment she let go. "Good to have with us," she said, cheerful while smiling and clapping her hands. "When you're ready, we'll get you fitted for your second skin… and maybe some new clothes; you look like a dirty orphan."

She got up and left the room. Salem's head hits the firm pillow. He thought about the events to come. As a Dragun, he had an obligation to fight any and all Alpha Cells that appeared.

Salem stood shivering as an older man applied a clear gel to his body. The building she had brought him to was nearly abandoned, which wasn't surprising. The moment the viscous semi-solid touched his skin, it immediately began to cure, molding to every single part of his body. They left nothing untouched in between his toes, fingers, ass, and, respectively, his penis. Everywhere the gel was attached slowly became blackened.

Salem looked down at the person administrating the goo, the middle-aged man with balding gray hair. The guy had the same black and white uniform that almost every Dragun wore, except his had an emblem of a dragon skull crossed with two rifles. 

He didn't speak much, and when Salem asked him questions to make everything less awkward, it was almost as if he was being ignored.

Thankfully, the process didn't last very long, and he was pushed along to a designer to get a personalized uniform, pretty much his identification for other Draguns.

The look and wear of the uniforms had been divided by the compass's cardinal and ordinal directions and then further subdivided by regions.

Abiza tapped Salem's shoulder and then proceeded to lean on a nearby wall. "So, when you were getting fondled by that old guy, I tried to look you up in the city registry, but I couldn't find any home of records, shit I couldn't even find a birth record, which shouldn't even be possible since literally, everything is virtual."

Salem was silent for a minute, just meekly staring back at the woman, hesitant to even say anything. "I'd rather we don't talk about that," he said at a volume just above a whisper.

Abiza was silent after hearing him speak. Her eyes were cold and judgemental. Finally, she said, "Alright. I suppose you'll stay at my place for a while."

Abiza then led Salem to a designer; this time was a rather bored older woman. Gray hair, thick glasses that make her normal eyes look beady. Abiza had conversed with her on behalf of Salem. 

Abiza immediately put the older woman to work. For someone of her age and vision challenged, she was pretty skillful. She was measuring his child-like proportions with precision. 

Minutes later, she had an outfit picked out. Black shorts barely reached his knees, and a buttoned black poncho over a white buttoned shirt accentuated his white hair and odd eyes.

Abiza was surprised and clapped eagerly, much to Salem's embarrassment. His tail curled around his body as he was being adorned with the last of his outfit accessories, a white garrison cape with black highlights.

And with that, his outfit was complete. He fully would be identified as a proper Dragun.