The Value of Life

Creation.

I feel a sudden jolt, and my eyes open. The sudden light blinds my eyes. Light. Eyes. How do I know these words? Feel… I can feel myself…existing. How do I feel these things? What is their purpose? What is my purpose?

As the light swiftly becomes tolerable, I begin to see more of my environment. The room is small, with only one exit at the far end. I am… curious. What is this place? Why am I here? What am I to do?

A voice calls out, quickly becoming audible. "Warforged Unit 994-Cy AN-546, please respond."

AN-546. That is my name. Regiment AN. Batch forty-two. Unit thirteen.

In my hollow, metallic voice, I respond, "Unit AN-546 active and fully operational." I can see that the walls are adorned with weapons, whose names and purposes I somehow know. In front of me is a person with short, black hair, clothed in white garments. He is smaller than me, but radiates an aura of superiority and knowledge.

He must be my commander. My leader. The person who will instruct me and give me purpose.

The commander is writing on a piece of parchment. "Vocal skills properly functioning. AN-546, stand on that pad." He gestures to a metal square to my left, and I rise from the table where I was – Born? Created? – and move to stand on it. "Motor skills properly functioning." He reads a number near the base of the square. "Height: five feet eleven inches. Weight: 285 pounds. Smaller than the standard model, but still in fine condition."

As the commander writes, I survey my body structure. I have two arms, with three fingers on each. I have two legs. I am made up of wood, stone, and metal, similar to the room itself. I am not wearing garments. I look back at my commander, who is both similar and unlike me, and I wait for him to give me orders.

I am different. Why am I different? What is my purpose?

The commander finishes writing, and turns to face me. His mouth is curved downwards, and his eyes are narrowed. "AN-546, do you know what you are?"

I do not. "No."

He exhales, and he briefly looks upward. "You are the latest addition to Project Warforged, an ongoing project intended to reduce the number of our human casualties by replacing able-bodied men with more expendable artificial constructs. Over the past thirty years, we have been developing this project, perfecting you automatons for warfare."
"You are intelligent enough to adapt to the chaos of combat, but lack the judgement-affecting emotions of humans. You are designed for war; your purpose is to carry out your commands, without hesitation, objection, or remorse."

The commander curves his mouth upwards into an expression I cannot do. "AN-546, do you understand your purpose?"

My purpose. I have a purpose. It is good to have a purpose, to be useful. "Yes, commander."

The commander's voice becomes lower, and his mouth is now curved downwards. "I am not your commander. I am your supervisor, and you will address me as "sir". Is that understood?"

So he is not my commander. He is called Sir. I understand. "Yes, Sir."

Sir continues speaking. "Good. Normally, you would be assigned a specialized field of expertise and be trained for the next few months in that proficiency. However, the council has ordered that every thirteenth unit be subject to experimentation..." Sir looks at his papers again. His eyes suddenly widen, but quickly narrow again, his mouth curving down even further. '"For experiment 546, subject will choose the field of specialization!?'" He turns away, and starts speaking quietly to himself. "Cross-eyed fools believe a simple machine can think for itself…"

A machine is a mindless tool. But if I am to choose my specialization, then I am not mindless. I am confused.

He turns back to me. "Fine. Follow me, AN-546." He walks out the door, and I slowly follow him. We walk into a strange room that has only two walls. Each wall is covered with doors as far as I can see. But I cannot look for long; Sir is walking through another door marked with the word "Armory", and I quickly follow him into the new room.

This room is filled with hundreds of weapons. I see rapiers, longswords, scimitars, spears, javelins, halberds, and countless other weapons whose names I somehow know, yet do not know how to use. My mind is now filled with questions. How does a sling work? How do you hold a spear? How–
"AN-546." The noise surprises me, and I turn to face Sir. "As per experiment 546, you will now 'choose' your weapon, if you can."

The weapon I choose will determine my purpose. The weapon's usefulness will determine my usefulness. I survey the room, looking for something to help me choose. I count over twenty-five different swords, axes, and spears, each of varying length and shape. Each one is probably useful in a particular way, but no more useful than any other. I don't know what to choose…

Among the different weapons, I see a small, dusty shelf, with a dark brown book. The pages are light brown, and it is impossible to read the tiny words written on the front.

Sir addresses me again, his voice in a hollow tone. "We haven't got all day, AN-546…"

I make my choice. Books contain information. And no matter the situation, information is always useful. It is not a weapon, but to me, the information that book may contain is more valuable than any protection a sword would give me.

I reach out and grasp the book. Sir's eyebrows raise, and he begins to write again.

-To be continued-

Seeing as this is my first story to put on , I decided to input one I previously did for a school project. It is vaguely based in the D&D: Eberron Setting, a setting that is owned by Wizards of the Coast, and not by me.
Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review or PM me to tell me what you thought of it!