The itching was vaguely annoying.
The insufferable itching at the edges of the metal encasing your wrists from the metal chafing relentlessly against your skin was one of the many annoying things of a list that never seemed to end.
Well, it would be annoying if you weren't so numb right now.
Being irritated, emotional, and even just more than vaguely bothered by the itching and the pain was nearly impossible at this point.
You had been here so long that you couldn't seem to remember much of what the outside world looked like, just the world within these bland steel and blue walls. Or the world inside your mind, a world you lived in at some point in your life and built up a home inside before it was all ripped away from you for various reasons.
The people within that latter world could easily be something your mind made up to help you, to protect your mind from the hells that you had seen and experienced within this place.
Your fingers idly scratched vaguely around the edge of the high tech metal sleeve like cuffs digging into your skin over time as you walked. Being led around like some little lost lamb or an imprisoned wolf, a creature that wasn't human and merely existed for entertainment, experiments, or to be their precious little slave. Or in your case…
Their weapon.
Being a weapon though didn't bother you as much as it should've. Even if being a weapon meant that they couldn't just kill you off or get rid of you. They were forced to put up with you and anything you did until they were ready to get rid of you and that would never happen.
You weren't like everyone else.
Being weak, scared, frightened, and desperate wasn't something that you had in you. Did it make you a bit inhuman? Yes, but it was humans themselves that had done this to you. Twisted, evil, disgusting humans that were an abomination to the human race, or at least that was what the rather muffled voice in the back of your mind told you.
Regardless of if it was true, it didn't change the fact that you were special, you were valuable to them. Which meant that you were different, you weren't like the others who were parts of this very same project. You weren't driven by fear, by the terror of being caged up and locked behind bars with these heavy restraints. Rather…
You were driven by revenge.
For the other people in this project had done something to you. Something you didn't consciously remember, but that your heart did.
Your jaw always set and clenched at their presence.
The muscles within your body tightened in anger.
Those mismatched eyes narrowed with calculations of what you could do to them.
To kill them, to take them down like you knew that you had promised sometime in your life, and you never broke a promise.
That promise would never be broken, just like you would never let them overtake you.
You were going to play this game and not just that, but…
It was a game you were going to win no matter what.
"Berserker, move out!"
Being the key pawn destined to be the only one at the end of this race of death, didn't mean that you liked who you were.
The person who you had become over how long it had been.
Who had been fighting for a reason that you didn't even fully understand.
That outside of the moments that followed those specific words were spoken with your name, you didn't like the act of taking a life, regardless of how much they deserved it.
It always haunted you, the aftermath of each of the kills, of snapping out of it only to find your hands covered in blood with not a single notion of what you had done to make the body in front of you lay lifeless, broken, with it's spark, regardless of how evil it was, snuffed out by your fingers.
Yet, despite the horror, you always got up and kept going.
Regardless of how frightening seeing the red hues in your eyes slowly fading as you looked into the glass viewing window while being led back toward your space.
The lonely place with nothing but guns, a range, weapons, and training equipment.
Where you were expected to train every moment that you weren't in the ring and you did.
Nothing scared you.
It wasn't possible to be scared after living like this for so long.
But that didn't keep you from hating yourself. From hating who you were and the amount of blood on your hands.
And most importantly…
That something was missing inside you, like something deep in your chest was gone, missing with a gaping hole that matched your initial feeling when you arrived here. A feeling of grief, like you had been grieving over someone you had lost before you got here.
Of someone you couldn't remember.
Someone who you knew you loved.
Who was now gone, passed away likely from you own hands, and you were all alone.
With nothing but your mild guilt and the numbed mind and body.
Nothing could mask the horror at seeing the blood splattered on your cheek as you walked silently past the window, eyes instinctively being drawn toward the glass.
Reminding you of the monster you were and the person you would never be again.
Just a monster.
A red-eyed monster who killed for the sake of killing.