She sat, head on knees, her back against the wall.
Funny how I always seem to be in this position, she thought darkly.
Thoughts whipped wildly through her mind, lingering, fleeting.. What had she done? Why? Oh God.. She sat motionless, muscles tensed into knots of steel, and waited for the chaos in her head to take on some shape, some reason.. Slowly her ragged breathing became more regular..
Was it that important, her life? At what cost was she keeping her secret? Keeping her freedom? Who was paying the price for her desire to live- and more crucially- to live emancipated from Manticore chains? She felt sick. All those people, they had wanted to live just as badly as she.. what gave her the right? The right to choose her life over theirs? Did the fact that her life was wrought out of the sweat and death of others count? Did she owe her life to those who gave their lives so that she might exist, did she owe it to them to continue living? Was she granted immunity, excused from her actions? Was she retroactively paying their price? Or was her continued existence possible only through more sacrifice?
They were not engineered biological miracles, not the fruit of marvelous technological advances, yet.. they were marvelous, individual slices of life, living beings as irreplaceable as she..
A tortured moan escaped her lips..
Onto the next phase of our little experiment, Max thought sarcastically. Let us study the killing machine as it grapples with morality..
Always be prepared for extreme situations, accomplish the objective at all cost.. These had been hammered into her and the echoes still rang, but now the ringing had become a terrible sound. Her soul resonated, nearly rending apart within her chest..
I have failed! Failed.. I thought escaping was enough, the objective was to survive, to live, but now.. now.. She gasped, floundered, desperately searching for some stronghold, some beacon..
Funny how I always seem to be in this position, she thought darkly.
Thoughts whipped wildly through her mind, lingering, fleeting.. What had she done? Why? Oh God.. She sat motionless, muscles tensed into knots of steel, and waited for the chaos in her head to take on some shape, some reason.. Slowly her ragged breathing became more regular..
Was it that important, her life? At what cost was she keeping her secret? Keeping her freedom? Who was paying the price for her desire to live- and more crucially- to live emancipated from Manticore chains? She felt sick. All those people, they had wanted to live just as badly as she.. what gave her the right? The right to choose her life over theirs? Did the fact that her life was wrought out of the sweat and death of others count? Did she owe her life to those who gave their lives so that she might exist, did she owe it to them to continue living? Was she granted immunity, excused from her actions? Was she retroactively paying their price? Or was her continued existence possible only through more sacrifice?
They were not engineered biological miracles, not the fruit of marvelous technological advances, yet.. they were marvelous, individual slices of life, living beings as irreplaceable as she..
A tortured moan escaped her lips..
Onto the next phase of our little experiment, Max thought sarcastically. Let us study the killing machine as it grapples with morality..
Always be prepared for extreme situations, accomplish the objective at all cost.. These had been hammered into her and the echoes still rang, but now the ringing had become a terrible sound. Her soul resonated, nearly rending apart within her chest..
I have failed! Failed.. I thought escaping was enough, the objective was to survive, to live, but now.. now.. She gasped, floundered, desperately searching for some stronghold, some beacon..