Author's Note: It's been so darn long since I last wrote a fic, I've forgotten how. Despite this being one of the shortest ones I've ever churned out, it was one of the hardest in a way. Writer's block. Urgh. Each time I force out a paragraph or two, my inspiration closes down on me, and I find myself struggling just to force out a little bit more. On and off. On and off. Drip, drip drip… Someone tell me they know the feeling?

Anyway, this one 's written for The Broken World's fiction & art competition which can be found by going to:
www[dot]x.thebrokenworld[dot]org Please check it out, and join in! The more the merrier!

Last but not least, thanks so much to Designation for reading over this and putting up with my museless whingings over MSN. :P

Disposable Lives

by Sorrow

Story 1. Unassailable

Flames explode throughout the dark prison of my childhood home.

Only moments ago it lay before me as a giant castle ruled by an evil king, a four-storied concrete hell. Dark and intimidating, it stood as deep and silent as the forest that surrounded it. Under the blanket of night, the fortress of my youth domineered this landscape with all the false pretence of a sleeping dragon, and impenetrable to all but fools.

But in an instant the dragon has woken. And yawning, has inhaled it's own mouthful of flames which ignite throughout it's belly. The night is borne without warning into a burst of fire and frenzy, as a thousand reddish-orange tongues explode from within, lapping at the night sky and dancing through sterile corridors.

From the cover of the trees, high upon the hilltop, I watch. My eyes and mind struggle to connect and understand what I see before me, but as the buildings systematically explode, I can only stand in frozen horror and watch the scene play out before my stunned eyes. Over the crackling roar of flames and falling debris, my hyper-sensitive hearing picks out the frantic shouts of soldiers no doubt trapped within their barracks, and I wince as the shouts turn to screams.

Smoke carried by the breeze sears my eyes and as I inhale, my nostrils fill with the scent of burning flesh. Choking, I hold a hand to my nose, unwilling to inhale the fetid stench. Horror deepens as my brain finally catches up with what my eyes have been trying to tell it: Manticore; imposing and unassailable, is under attack. Soldiers are burning alive within their barracks, children burning alive within their beds. And helpless, all I can do is stare silently and bear witness as it falls.

Then movement catches my eye and I inhale sharply, forgetting the smoke. Soldiers are spilling out from the flaming building and making their way across the yard. Relieved to see they've been released from their pyres, I follow the path of an X8 who has reached the perimeter fence. In one leap she has reached the coils of barbed wire that fringe the top of the fence, and now prepares to propel herself up and over. My attention is caught up in her plight as I'm struck by the de-ja vu of my own escape, many years before. For a moment I wonder if this child-soldier will take the chaos surrounding her as an opportunity to flee her prison, or if she'll simply lay low and wait for the order to regroup. If I were in her place right now, knowing what I know of the outside world, what would I do?

But the few seconds I have to ponder the liberation of these soldiers are quickly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. I divert my eyes from the X8 to try and identify where the shots are coming from. Through the smoke and flames of Manticore's burning corpse, I can't make sense of who's firing at who, although I assume that Manticore has identified the enemy and is making moves to secure the base. I'm still uncertain which side I'm rooting for.

Remembering the X8, I return my attention to the fence, but as my eyes fall upon a figure lying unmoving on the ground, my heart momentarily sinks. It was a stray bullet, I tell myself with a dismissive shrug, and then I notice a Manticore TAC team making their way forward, striking down those who have managed to escape the fury of the inferno. I shake my head, unable to understand what's going on. Who's fighting who? Why is Manticore waging war upon its own soldiers?

There is nothing to do but watch.

...And grit my teeth at the irony of it all. I've despised this place for so long, and yet tonight I had thought to return. To stop running and give myself back to the Hell which had spawned me. But the very night I come back to face the music, the whole damn jukebox is razed to the ground! Heck, if I'd arrived but a handful of minutes earlier, I might've burnt with it.

So where the hell do I go now?

An X5's brain is faster than that of an ordinary human being. We're designed to make rapid calculations and assessments of our surroundings, and act upon the most logical choice. But right now, such ability fails me and rather than take assertive action, I stay here amid the shelter of the trees, and watch Manticore burn.

Until the TAC teams begin to make their way in the forest, picking off the injured.

Until it's no longer safe to remain.

End Note: Which transgenic was this point of view told through? Gotta decide that one for yourself. ;) My idea for 'Disposable Lives' is to write a series of short standalones, each one just a snapshot glimpse of the life of a transgenic trying to carve an existance after Manticore's destruction. Or maybe I'll expand more upon the transgenic I've written here? I have no idea. Most likely, I'll give up altogether and stick with web design. :P