A/N: You are going to ship Texx so bad after this. Seriously. Feelings. Also I called the swirly face mark things defining-marks. And all the female Kahler have double letters at the end of their given names.
Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be.
As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy.
Take your time, hurry up.
The choice is yours, don't be late.
Take a rest, as a friend, as an old memoria,
Memoria.
Come dowsed in mud, soaked in bleach,
As I want you to be.
As a trend, as a friend, as an old memoria,
Memoria.
Nirvana - Come As You Are
The days were mostly the same in the beginning. Testing, injections, training, home. Testing, injections, training, home. Testing, injections, training, home... The cycle continued for days and weeks and months on end, waiting, wanting more; we received no advantages physically or emotionally. Axx hadn't spoken to me properly for three months by the time my voice box finished forming. Rek was due in only a matter of weeks; yet I found that I struggled to care. That seemed strange. My son was to be brought to life soon, and yet it just seemed... normal.
Surely it would have occurred to me then that Kahler-Jex, who was in charge of Biological Alteration, was doing things to us that we didn't know about. Things we didn't approve of.
After my artificial voice box ("To form an altogether more intimidating image," Kahler-Mas had told us) formed, my right eye transformed, then my legs mechanised, and finally, I went through surgery to amputate my left arm to be replaced with a multi-barrelled fully automatic assault rifle. Throughout these procedures I continually struggled to feel the emotions which used to plague my heart. I could no longer dote on Axx, I didn't care when Rek would be born, I didn't care about anything. I was numb inside.
Time blurred itself into a fuzzy sequence of repetition and hope and lies. We trained so hard some days our bionic legs would spark in protest; we kept going despite this, for the glory of Kahler. I don't remember much after that.
Except that one day I came to my senses. My left leg had fallen off again, and needed repair. Kahler-Jex had just started trialling new bionic limb prototypes – hazard a guess as to who they picked to trial them on? Me. I'd just arrived home when Axx slammed the kitchen door in my face. "We don't serve zombies here," she'd said coldly, but my bionic ears picked up the sound of the quietest whimper and her tears hitting the floor in an almost consistent stream. She was right, sadly. I was just like a zombie. Emotionless, replaceable limbs, and an insatiable need to spill the blood of my enemies.
A splitting pain in my head exploded then; it left me powerless, and I dimly felt my heavy machine body hit the living room carpet. Panic flooded my mind, and I shed a single tear – I wouldn't even see my son if anything happened now...
Panic. Tears. I was feeling again. I could still hear Axx crying her heart out in the kitchen – the image of a silken layer of tears covering her beautiful, swirling defining-mark was so vivid in my mind. The door opened, and she choked as she saw me lying paralysed by epiphany. I pulled myself upwards and fell into her embrace. "It's me again," I whispered to her, and she made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a wail before collapsing into my arms. "You've come back for us," she cooed in soft reply. My heart swelled for the woman before me, for our house, for the large bump that was her swollen stomach containing our son – but the hormone-blocker had begun repairing itself, and I pulled away from her, nodding to indicate it was beginning again. The look on her face could've cut a hole in a metal sheet.
I went to work the next day pretending nothing had happened. I was just another science intern who was being experimented on for the new army the Emperor had called to assemble to them. My hormone-blocker had fully repaired during my sleep, and I was ready for full integration.
All soldiers would be integrated into the main battalion after about six months, give or take. That's what Kahler-Jex said, anyway. We'd been good friends, he and I. Jex would always buy new toys and games for Rek – until he was put in charge of our training. That's when he started to spend more time with Kahler-Mas. From what I had seen, Mas was a cruel, sadistic creep of a man, and it's hard to cross me. He was famous for pouring his life's work into the perfect all-round torture/killing weapon. Blades, syringes, trip wires, acid, bullets, glass fragments, small rocks, hallucinogens, anything really. Mas was given the option of joining the Cyborg Project or getting thrown in the mental asylum for killing his parents as a kid – he picked the Project. He was always such a sensitive, yet condescending man. I struggled to get along with him, even after I became an experimental subject.
Then the Blacklists were handed out.
Blacklists were our only order and mission. As a battalion, we would fight and kill everyone (and everything) on our lists, striking through every accomplishment with a line of the victim's blood. We infiltrated the enemy as ordinary people, covering our defining-marks with special blemish cream and killing those on the list. We did not stop until the guts were spilled and blood was shed. We needed to feel the still-warm bodies in our hands. We desperately needed to be this way; none taking accountability, just bringing death and getting repair.
Then my hormone-blocker broke a second time, mid-battle. I saw the blood on my hands and the bodies by my feet, and I choked on the lump that had formed in my throat. I was a killer. I had wanted to kill. I'd needed to. I'd gone and slain hundreds by this point...
I'd forgotten I was fighting - the alien knifed me through the stomach, and everything went black.
