"Preparations for release are nearly ready. Draculoid round 88 will begin in five." The toneless, robotic voice announced over the loud speaker. All around, men and women in lab coats hurried, electronic devices in their hands. The buzz of chatter hung in the air, nervous excitement lacing their words. Today was a big day. One of the biggest BL/ind had seen in a while Today was the day Project S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W faced it's first real test.
Project S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. A.k.a Me.
I sat in the middle of the busy room. I paid no attention to the scientist, nor did they pay any to me. To be honest, I hated them. Sure, they saved my life, but they only did it for their jobs. They only did it to keep their bank accounts full. There was no emotion, no feeling. Just work and money. They weren't real life savers. Just a bunch of greedy motherfuckers only in it for the pay. And trust me, they knew that was how I felt.
You see, I'm not just an ordinary person. I'm Better Living Industries' latest 'project', or as I like to think of it, war machine. Weapon for destruction. I used to be a normal person. That was before the car accident. Apparently it was about nine months ago. A fast car race, meant to pass the time, gone wrong. The worst part is, I can remember the moments before the crash. The terror. The adrenaline. Glancing over at the other car, seeing I was behind. Speeding up. The corner appearing ahead. Knowing I was going to take it too fast. Then nothing but black until I open my eyes to find myself lying on a hospital bed, those damn scientist staring down at me. Waking up a whole new person. They told me the other racer wasn't as lucky as me. Sometimes I envy them.
Then again, I technically shouldn't be here either. The crash tore my body apart. The metal literally mauled me. If it had been anyone else, they would have been left to die. But I was, according to BL/ind, 'perfect' for the job. The right age, the right appearance, no family to miss me. Just the right kind of person to become their next soldier. So they put me back together. Reconstructed my skin so it looked flawless. Replaced the destroyed bone and muscle with robotic parts. They even gave me enhanced speed, strength and reflexes. I was faster and stronger than any normal person, male or female. I had to hand it to them, their technology was amazing. I looked just like I did before. Except there was one part they couldn't fix.
I glance down at my gloved left hand. Using my other, bare hand, I remove the white glove. However, instead of seeing normal human skin like my right, I see the robotic frame of a hand, filled with a mish-mash of wires, the largest being five thick black ones leading up each digit. I wiggle my fingers. The robotic hand does the same. It moves just like a normal hand would, although I will admit that seeing the wires move inside was a bit strange. And the scientists had done their best to make it look at least slightly normal. The metal plates covering the wires in the largest part of my hand kind of made it look like I was wearing fingerless gloves. Made of metal. With wires in my fingers. And skin stopping at my wrist.
Yeah, I was basically a monster.
"Product ready for release. Draculoid round 88 prepped to go." The robotic voice broke me out of my thoughts. That was my cue. Pulling the glove back on, I stood up. The scientist nodded to me as I began to make my way to the van where Draculoid round 88 was waiting for me to join them. I glared back at them. It was only a short walk until I reached the garage, the white van idling and the BL/ind logo smiling at me. I scowled and climbed in, taking a seat next to the three draculoids already in the back. Two sat up front, driver and passenger. One masked soldier held a rifle out to me and I took it silently, laying it down in my lap. It wasn't the most mobile weapon, but that was the point. To make me look as inexperienced and vulnerable as possible. They were relying on the assumption that I would be underestimated. I knew that I should trust their assumptions. After all, they had been right about everything so far. But deep down, something told me they were wrong.
The van door shut and the driver hit the accelerator. The white vehicle rolled out of the garage, hitting the tarmac and turning onto the road that would take us to the highway. The highway which would eventually wear away into a dusty desert road. Route Guano, they called it. My good hand curled around the rifle in anticipation. The corner of my mouth twitched upwards in a slight smile.
Time to go kill some Killjoys.