Six eyes opened for the first time. Wires and tubes fastened for months finally detached, their purpose fulfilled. The pain of their departure awoke him. Red, viscous amnion circled down a drain beneath him and the pod opened.
It was cold. That was the first thing he noticed. He was exposed for the first time. Everything was a blurred haze of grey, sound rushing in and out of his head without leaving any meaning. It took a few seconds for his new senses to fully focus.
An angry voice growled at him, shoving a steely piece of machinery into his hands. Somehow, he understood what the tool in his hand was for.
He knew he had orders to fulfill, and he did not hesitate to obey them. He couldn't. For though he could see, hear, and feel, those senses were merely simple inputs to a programmed mind. They were there to react to, not to observe.
He instinctively followed the programmed course, carrying his equipment down into the mines. A long stream of pirates was laid out along the cavern wall, drilling away into the deep, blue ore. There was only one gap in the continuous line of slaves. He didn't stop to question why it was there. Obediently, he filled the empty space and rammed the ore-processor into the wall. The steely claw at its tip latched on to the oily substance and cut a swath through the rock. A neat, unprocessed cube was the result, and he instinctively tossed it onto the conveyor belt behind him. He repeated the process, again and again, delving deeper into the seemingly never-ending deposit.
Something liquid, cyan blue gazed down at him from the ceiling, a tiny leak from something much greater above. It had already invaded one victim today. It had permeated his skin, moved through his blood and touched his pathetic, animal mind. It took it for its own, and drove the creature to madness. He was killed almost immediately after, his corrupted form viewed as a threat by his more intelligent superiors. But a dead body was no setback, it was merely meat.
The suspended droplet did not look alive, and it certainly did not look intelligent. It simply blended in, undetectable as its schemed its attack. Finally another body was within reach, and so it let go of its perch, beating down hungrily through the air.
It missed its mark by a small margin, dripping onto his mere left arm. The slave's fresh skin was battered and bruised from labor, and provided only a laughable barrier. The liquid creature found an open sore. It sank in and squirmed inside him, inching its way upwards, closer to his mind.
The process did not go unnoticed. As soon as the vile substance touched his skin, it burned. The slave did not understand what was causing it, only that his arm had erupted into agonizing pain. He backed away from the wall and started screaming. Something writhed beneath his skin, moving with a will of its own. His roars resonated through the caverns. His fellow slaves took no notice.
He wanted it to end. A glitch, perhaps the first in a long while; the slave formed an idea. To use a tool for something other than its intended purpose required some degree of intelligence, creativity. Things he shouldn't have possessed. But under the staggering pain the parasite brought him, his mind was pushed to its limit. Acting on impulse, the pirate drove the ore-processor into his shoulder. The lasers cut swiftly through his flesh and an arm fell to the ground twitching. The lifeform inside it had failed. It seemed to acknowledge this fact and promptly began consuming its severed vessel.
He staggered backwards, clutching desperately at an empty socket. Rich, black blood came out in droves as he fell to his knees. His brain was overloaded with data, the pain and unreal loss too much for his small mind to handle. For the first time, he began forming thoughts.
What is happening to me?
"Two in one day? Damn I'm lucky," the overseer laughed, interrupting the slave's fetal thoughts.
"Fuck off, I get to kill this one," another interjected, drawing an energy blade.
Though he could not understand their words, the slave knew what a weapon meant. He shook his head and meekly pulled himself off the ground, trying to move.
The aggressor's impertinence only drove the other overseer into attacking him. He roared and pushed him to the ground, voicing his dominance. It only antagonized yet another attack, and rather than killing the now-useless slave, the two slavedrivers were at each other's throats.
The slave staggered backwards, still clutching pitifully at his hole of an arm.
Escape…
Escape? What was that? Getting away... Away from their weapons. Was it possible?
He ran, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Nothing mattered anymore but getting away alive. No slave should have shown such resistance, yet this one wanted to live. That most basic of animal instincts had been brought to the surface.