Edited: 1/18/16
Chapter 4 – Becoming
"Nothing is, everything is becoming." – Heraclitus of Ephesus
In one unbearable instant, the emptiness was flooded with light and a whirlwind of sound as knowledge began filling the empty vessel. His body was held in perfect stillness due to the sedatives that flooded his system when the monitors detected a spike in heart rate caused by the influx of information. Language was forcefully uploaded into his memory, words, phrases, all the nuances and subtleties of an entire language poured into his blank mind. For every new word, an image, meaning built upon meaning until all he wanted to do was clutch his head and scream. His body refused to follow the frantic commands, and remained motionless in its house of glass.
Years passed, or maybe only seconds. After time beyond measure, the flood of data became a river, the river, a stream, and finally it dwindled down to a mere trickle. The influx of information dried up, leaving desperate pain in its wake while his mind was forced to absorb the massive amount of knowledge.
Before the pain had a chance to fade, a commanding voice crashed into his raw mind. "4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Exist to Serve, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Will OBEY Your Wielder in All Things, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, Your Life Belongs to Your Wielder, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, Your Death Belongs to Your Wielder, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Exist to Serve, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Will Protect Your Wielder, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Will Only Have One Wielder at Any One Time, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, You Will OBEY Your Wielder in All Things, 4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492, Obedience is Life, You Exist to Serve, Obey, OBEY, OBEY, OBEY.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
With each repetition, a foundation of existence was built into the weapon.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
With each repetition, the foundation grew and was strengthened.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
With each repetition, suggestion became truth.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
With each repetition, truth became…everything.
4285-8284910583-210982905729-8492
I exist to serve, to obey my wielder in all things, my life, my death, all belong to my wielder…I exist to obey…this is my purpose.
Days passed, and the body in the holding chamber grew stronger. Bone was covered in a healthy layer of flesh while limbs twitched with electrical commands not his own. Probes, several thousand of them, had been studded into IX's flesh, each linked to the numerous muscular systems in the body. Starvation weakened muscles, now fed on a concentrated form of pure nutrient solution were given no rest as waves of electricity shot through them at regular intervals.
Humans have no memory of learning how to walk, to talk, to use a spoon or put on a shirt. Weapon IX would have no memory of learning these things either. The knowledge was passed directly into his flesh as each command was repeated, building up the weapons muscle memory so that when the time came, he would be fully functional.
The Professor sat back in his chair, and smiled a razor thin smile. Everything was going according to plan, in spite of the slight mishap they'd experienced a few weeks ago. Mishap, well I suppose that's one way to put nearly being wiped out by a renegade weapon, the Professor thought sourly. He reviewed the data readouts on weapon IX. The obedience program had been uploaded successfully, as had the language program. That was a brilliant piece of programming of the Professor's own design, and he was still bitter about the fact that it only worked on someone who'd been turned into a vegetable. Imagine how valuable such a program would be if it worked on a normal person. To learn an entire language in a matter of minutes, it was truly some of his best work. Too bad it would never see the light of day. The circumstances required to make the program function properly weren't something the general population would be accepting of. No, there was much the sheep didn't need to know, and the Weapons Plus program was one of those little government secrets.
Once all the basic programming had been successfully installed, the Professor enacted the first of many training modules that would be fed directly into the subject's brain so that they wouldn't have to wait years for IX to learn at a normal level. Long spider like fingers tapped a command into the computer: Enact training module one: hand to hand combat, Enter.
A featureless plane expanded in all directions around him, while he stood waiting for a command. "Learn what they have to teach you, fight, kill…or be killed." The disembodied voice echoed through the field. Jade green eyes scanned the empty landscape, waiting with the patience of the damned for the training to begin. Shadows, darker than the ones that overlaid the empty space, shifted and materialized into manlike shapes. They were far larger than him, his head barely reached their shoulders, and his slender form couldn't compare to their shadowy bulk. Fear didn't touch IX's jewel colored eyes as he watched the shapes form, it was an emotion that had no place in the new creation's being.
Two of the shadow men squared off against each other and performed a simple sequence of attack and defend, dark fists and feet lashed out in an intricate dance of violence that was performed exactly three times for his observation. Then, as one, the shadow men turned and attacked the untrained youth. Their dark flesh quickly proved to be as solid as his, and he crashed to the ground with blood pouring from a badly broken nose. Still, the men did not relent in their attack. He wasn't able to regain his feet before a heel slammed brutally into the thin bone at his right temple.
Another agonizing crunch resounded through his battered skull, bone yielded under the crushing blow, and the darkness gave way to blazing white. Distantly, he felt his body fall to the ground. With a wrenching tear he lost the connection to his flesh. Everything went dark, and death overcame him.
SNAP, with a feeling similar to a dislocated joint being jerked back into place, his death was undone and again he stood alone on the featureless plane, now decorated with patches of damp blood. "Learn what they have to teach you, fight, kill…or be killed." The emotionless command sounded again. This time the shadow men did not give a demonstration before they attacked. One arm came up in a faltering attempt to fend off the first blow, and bone cracked under the force. IX hissed as pain flashed though his arm. He attempted to dodge the second shadow's kick to his ribs. The dodge put him directly in the path of a savage upper cut that snapped his head back exposing his vulnerable throat to a vicious punch that crushed the delicate bones.
Again he fell, this time unable to breath around the shattered bones of his ruined throat. Death came slower this time, nearly two agonizing minutes of choking on his own blood while his oxygen starved brain struggled to function and failed.
SNAP - "Learn what they have to teach you, fight, kill…or be killed."
IX dodged the fists, learning how to duck and weave, using his smaller form to evade hits instead of attempting to block them. Empty jade eyes watched how the shadow men moved, studying what he could use against his attackers when the opportunity came. His smaller fist managed to skim over the ribs of one of the shadow men before a kick from behind shattered his spine and sent him falling into death for the third time.
SNAP, with each repetition IX learned out of necessity to extend his life for a few more minutes each cycle. His body grew stronger and was able to tolerate more damage before failing. Each new repetition built his knowledge and after the eleventh, his focus shifted.
Darting forward, he twisted serpent like under a kick that would have broken his neck four cycles back and turned, bringing his sharp elbow back with devastating force into the shadow man's solar plexus. With a whoosh of air being expelled from his lungs, the shadow man fell. Before the second shadow could retaliate, he competed the turn and lashed out with his foot. Crack, bone gave way, and the dark shape went limp. His first taste of success, to kill, instead of be killed. Before he could savor the victory a thickly muscled arm snaked around his throat and with an indifferent twist, his body joined the shadow on the ground.
SNAP. The attacks became faster, and IX realized that in the beginning they had gone easy on him. More shadow men joined the never ending conflict, each with a distinct style. No words were spoken, and after the first demonstration no others were given. He was taught through pain, through experimentation, and though he didn't know the names, he learned a unique form of martial arts that was a brutal hybrid of all styles. The module had been designed so that the weapon would be unpredictable. It taught numerous styles all at once so IX was forced to evolve and develop a style that had not existed prior.
SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, SNAP…
Hundreds of deaths, thousands of methods tried and discarded while IX refined his technique. Eventually, the blood that painted the ground a deep rust, refreshed with bold splashes of crimson, was replenished more by the shadow men than IX. Corpses piled up, only vanishing when he met another end, but the blood always remained. Each new match began on a field of dry blood, the bitter tang of copper scented every breath until the entire world tasted of death.
SNAP. The field had been replaced by a shadow wreathed forest. Silver glinted, revealing the sharp sheen of blades great and small. Edged weapons littered the forest, and the second phase of his training began. One of the shadow men rose up out of the ground, a black sword griped in his right hand.
The sword moved like an extension of the shadow man's arm as he lashed out. IX ducked and rolled, snatching up a sword as he came to his feet. The weapon felt wrong in his grip, too long and unwieldy. He wasn't able to bring it up in time to keep from being impaled on the shadow man's blade. This death wasn't a crushing one, not a breaking one. It was sharp, and swift as life blood was set free to water the black trees.
SNAP, swords were too long, too bulky to fit the fighting style IX had become accustomed to. Instead, he sought out shorter blades, daggers. Unlike his prior training, where numerous attackers swamped him, here his opponents were scattered throughout the forest and had to be hunted down individually.
IX held his breath, turning his head one way, then another. He listened for the whisper soft tread of his enemy's steps on the forest floor. Silence. No, behind him. A strange scuffing sound where no sound had been before. Turning, IX barely managed to catch the descending blade and turn it aside with his right dagger. The left lashed forward, tearing effortlessly through the tender flesh of the Shadow man's stomach. A second slash opened the dark throat in a bloody torrent. Emerald eyes darted to the side just as a second Shadow man stepped out of the darkness cast by one of the massive trees. As the blade descended in an arch he couldn't escape, IX acknowledged the new threat of the Shadow men's ability to use the shadows to travel unseen.
SNAP, IX learned to emulate the near soundless tread of his opponents when he was hunted, and in turn became the hunter. Hiss, the soft sound was all the warning he had before the tiny blade sank deep into his throat. Nimble fingered managed to jerk the three inch long blade free and study it in the seconds before death claimed him.
SNAP, thrice more he was cut down by the tiny blades, and as he traveled the forest IX began searching out the devastating weapons. Dodging the minuscule blades proved near impossible, and the next dozen cycles was spent playing an intriguing game of cat and mouse with the knife thrower.
A small blade shot from IX's hand with pinpoint accuracy at the shift of shadow on shadow in the tree to his right. Thump, the shadowed shape fell in a crumpled heap to the forest floor, a delicate blade still clutched in his right hand, un-thrown. He continued on, his long range weapons outclassed the Shadow men who did not use them, and the forest was soon riddled with the bodies of his targets.
This time it wasn't death that initiated the change in scenery. After he'd slain every shadow man he could locate in the forest, IX fell to the ground when the world trembled and blurred before his eyes. Once the world settled again, he was standing on the top of a large concrete building.
The sound of a booted foot behind him caused IX reacted as he'd been trained, and with no wasted movement he turned; a small blade flashed between his fingers. The weapon was nearly loosed before he registered that the man wasn't attacking him. IX's stance straightened, but warily studied the new person.
He wasn't one of the shadow men. This person was dressed in a military uniform. Salt and pepper hair, cut with military precision topped the head of a fit older man who had no defining features. The man wasn't too tall, or too short. His blue eyes were not brilliantly so. They weren't watery or eye catching, and matched his equally bland nose and lips. No scars marred his face shaped face, and if he were to walk through a crowed, people asked to describe him later would be at a loss.
"The next phase of your training begins now," the voice was familiar; it was the one who'd given him the order to learn and to kill.
"Yes, sir." IX said in a robotic tone, clean of independent thought or emotion.
The man turned and led IX into the building. A long table was laid out with hundreds of different types of fire arms, from revolvers to rocket launchers. "You have learned to kill by hand, and by blade, now it is time to learn how to kill by bullet." He showed IX how each weapon operated, how to break them down and re-assemble them, and which ammunition each weapon took.
"Now you do it," he commanded.
IX picked up the nearest hand gun and spoke, "compact firearm." The soft swish of something cutting through the air alerted IX of the attack, and he jerked his hand back. His body automatically fell into a defensive stance when the riding crop cracked against the table where his hand had been.
"Be still," the voice barked, and IX rigidly obeyed. The crop lashed out again, scoring a sharp red line across the back of his hand. "You will not fight me, and you will accept whatever punishment I give you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"What you are holding is a HK-40 USP Compact. Begin again."
IX's breath remained even and calm. His gaze held none of the anger the rebuke would have caused in an average army recruited. He simply began again, ignoring the line of pain that throbbed along the back of his hand. "HK-40 USP Compact," he said, checking that the gun was empty before pushing the pin to release the slide lock. Another sharp crack sounded when IX's inexperienced fingers fumbled during the disassembly. This time he did not flinch, attempt to pull away, or defend himself. A steady breath slid from his parted lips, and he eased the slide lock free, and set it aside before removing the spring and barrel. The man gave a sharp nod of satisfaction before motioning IX to reassemble the weapon.
Hours later, the backs of his hands were reduced to bloody shreds. Every mistake was harshly corrected by a lash of the crop. No matter how often he was corrected, IX did not respond in anger, or in any other way but to focus harder on the task even when it became difficult to move his fingers due to the damage.
"Now that you know the tools of the trade, we will begin your training," the man said briskly. "Bring the sniper rifle."
Pain clawed at him when he wrapped his ruined hands around the weapon, but he didn't allow it to control his actions. The dizzying sensation returned when they passed through the door to the roof causing IX to stumble. After the dizziness passed, the pain was gone. A glance at his hands showed them whole once more.
Instead of the complete silence that previously occupied the roof, there was noise, traffic, voices, humanity going about its every day existence. "Your targets will not always be soldiers, you must be able to take out any target that is presented to you in any situation." The man took the weapon and demonstrated how to set it up properly. It took a couple of tries for IX to position himself correctly, but this time his mistakes were not punished. Instead, the man simply adjusted the smaller male into the proper position.
"Your target is the business man in the blue suit, talking on the cell phone."
A single emerald eye focused through the scope, acquiring the target. Cross-hairs centered on the man's head before IX squeezed the trigger. The gun coughed, jerking back hard against his shoulder. A divot appeared in the building behind the man's head. The man continued walking as if nothing happened.
"You need to account for the wind and trajectory," was the only guidance given.
IX studied the pit his shot made, and saw it went too high, and a slightly to the left. Adjusting his aim, he shot again. This time the bullet struck the man's shoulder, and still he walked on. Another shot went too far to the right. The forth clipped the back of the man's head, but it wasn't enough to be a killing shot. The fifth bullet finished the target off and he collapsed onto the sidewalk. The cell phone shattered into a million technological bits after it slid from his dead fingers and pitched onto the cement. Blood pooled around the dead man, and the other civilians on the street walked around him, unconcerned.
"Now the woman in the red dress." It took three shots to bring her down.
"The young man on the skate board." The faster moving target took seven shots.
"The young boy in green holding the blond woman's hand." The cross hairs focused on the tiny dark haired child, without hesitation IX took the shot. The first bullet went a bit too high and struck the woman low in the chest. A second finished the child off. I should have waited until they crossed the street, then I would have had a clearer shot of the boy without risking the woman. IX observed when the bullet traveled through the young boy's head before crashing into the woman's hip in a spray of blood.
Soon, the street was littered with bodies with a varying number of holes in them. Each shot was adjusted as IX learned the art of aim through merciless repetition until he could take out any target, from a stationary one, to a thief running full out after snatching a purse, with a single shot to the head.
"Good," with the word, the dizzy world-altering feeling returned. Two dazed blinks later, the world had reset itself. The street was clean of carnage, and the pedestrians were again up and walking around, perusing their own interests.
"You have a single target, the little girl in the light blue dress being held by the man in the red shirt. Do not kill the man, or any of the pedestrians around him."
IX studied the target with care. In appearance, the girl couldn't be more than four or five. Her small face was bright red from sobbing, and blood oozed from the scrap on her knee. From their position, they couldn't hear her crying, or the man's quiet words, but the scene was easy enough to read.
Emotionless green eyes examined the precise angle of her head where it rested on his shoulder, and he lined up the shot, waiting for the perfect moment. Small as she was, her weight still pulled at her father's arms, and he paused to hitch her up a little higher on his hip. With a sharp crack of sound, her head slammed into his shoulder with enough force to stagger him.
Screams filled the street, and the other pedestrians froze for one heart stopping instant to stare at the ruined head of the girl, and the frantic screams of her father who had fallen to his knees to cradle the limp body to his chest. He seemed unaware of the bullet wound in his shoulder, too focused on the child to notice the flesh wound. More screams picked up after his had faded into broken sobs. He rocked back and forth with the dead girl clutched in his arms as if he could protect her even though the worst already happened.
Sunlight glinted off the scope, and one of the pedestrians noticed. With a frightened shout, he pointed up at the roof. Instantly, the crowd surged in all directions. Terror overtook them at the thought of being the next victim.
IX watched the scene unfold, and felt nothing for the orchestrated chaos a single bullet caused.
Dr. MacKenzie tapped his finger on his notepad while the rest of the doctors found open seats around the conference table. The psychiatrist fumed in silence, unable to suppress the glare he shot at the woman who'd taken a seat three chairs down from his. He'd been the designated leader of the physiological aspects of the project, until his position had been usurped by her and her wretched machine. As aggravating as that truth was, he couldn't deny the power of her technology, and how it rendered his part in the whole project moot. They didn't need mind altering chemicals or procedures to control either weapon when they had Dr. Hines and her mind control devise. He snorted before forcing his features to smooth out into a polite mask of indifference. When her electro-voodoo failed, he'd be there to pick up the pieces.
"I called this meeting to discuss the progress of both weapons. We will begin with IX." The Professor's voice cut through the quiet chatter of the doctors, and they fell silent to listen. "The subject successfully completed his conditioning, and at 0600 tomorrow, he will be released from the holding unit. We will conduct a thorough examination before initiating testing to gauge the success of the programming. Dr. MacKenzie, you will assess his mental status. Dr. Hendry you will assess his physical status. Dr. Cornelius, you will review the bonding of the nano-technology, and ensure it is functioning properly," the Professor directed while reviewing his notes. Dr. MacKenzie gave a mock salute, but didn't say anything as the Professor leveled an icy glare in his direction. At least he still had some use.
"Dr. Hines, if you would please review the progress that's been made in the Weapon X project?"
She cleared her throat before, sitting up straighter in an attempt to hide her nervousness about addressing the entire group. "Yes, Weapon X finished stage three of the conditioning and is now fully operational." Dr. Hines said, and then worried that it wasn't enough of a report, she began lecturing to fill the void "The RMI device takes control of a subject in three distinct phases, the initial phase is used to deactivate the frontal lobes of the subjects brain so that they are completely cut off from memory, emotion, and self-awareness. The subject looses the ability to distinguish the difference between reality and vivid imaginary experiences. Due to the proximity of the Broca's area of the brain the Subject has also lost the ability to form more than rudimentary sounds. The second stage actively eliminates the subject's memories and replaces them with fabricated memories of our creation. This allows us to imbed controls into the subject via memory. We will be able to manipulate his fear, inspire paranoia and activate negative emotions such as vengeance, rage, and anger, while suppressing emotions such as compassion. The third stage is critical; it is the command and control stage. During this stage, we used numerous probes and the control helmet to electronically feed commands into his brain and control muscle movement. This phase is now compete, and Weapon X no longer requires the RMI waves to keep him in thrall. His brain was successfully programmed to work without them." She finished, a light blush touched her normally pale cheeks when the Professor gave her a chastening look for going over information that everyone at the table should be familiar with.
"Everything is going according to schedule. We will reconvene tomorrow." He said as he stood up abruptly and left the room.
The Professor sat in his control center and keyed a command; his slate grey eyes studied the screen when tiny mechanical arms began their tireless task in preparation of the morning. With delicate precision, the probes were individually removed from the small form. It was a process that would take hours, but when it was done, the only thing that would be left was the life support mask over IX's face, and the tubes supplying air and nutrients down his throat.
Satisfied that everything was in order, the Professor retired to get a couple hours sleep before morning.
Excited tension crackled through the waiting doctors and staff as the green liquid drained from the large tank. The slender male form swathed in a cloud of long black hair came to rest on the floor of the unit. Silent questions hung phantom like, not voiced, but still present in the gathered professionals who waited for some sign of success. Did the accelerated growth work? Was the subject viable, would it be able to breathe, to function once it was removed from life support? Would it be able to speak, to walk, to fight? What if the control programming failed, and it turned on them? How dangerous was it, how vulnerable, did it work? No one dared voice their worries, but everyone from the Professor, to the lowest tech, felt the anxiety roll through the large room as the body came to rest in the fetal position on the bottom of the containment unit.
A small jolt of electricity passed through the still body. It jerked once, before it began to stir. A delicate hand parted the long fall of wet hair before snaking around to unbuckle the mask. IX sat up slowly, tilted his head back, and tugged the mask from his face, easing the tubes from his throat in one smooth motion. Some of the tension in the room eased at the action, which demonstrated the weapon was at least semi functional.
The slender, wiry muscled Weapon stood, and pushed the heavy hair behind him in an effort to keep it from inhibiting his movements.
"Open the hatch," the Professor's voice cut through the thick silence. One of the techs jumped forward to obey. A door sized hatch at the front of the unit was opened. A loud hiss signified the seal breaking, and for the first time since the incident, IX breathed air that hadn't been fed directly into his lungs via machine.
IX didn't hesitate. He stepped out of the unit on silent feet. Each movement was precise, with no wasted energy or exaggerated motion. There wasn't the sort of jerkiness some of the scientists feared would occur. The programming performed flawlessly.
Another step, emotionless jade eyes swept the room, touching on each living being, cataloging them by threat level and rank of importance. Two guards at the door, armed with tranquilizer guns, no live arms. Nine non-combatants, four lower personnel, five higher level personnel. His impersonal gaze ranked the five higher level individuals, observing how they differed to the tall slender one. He would be the primary target. The gliding steps halted while he sought out useful weapons. The woman held a pen, and was furiously scribbling on a clipboard. The guards were a minor threat. Their weapons would not be of much use if he could get a hold of a hostage.
The Professor studied the subject while it took its first steps. The movements were not shaky, and the final form of the weapon was precisely what the Director had been aiming for. Standing no more than 5'5" the young man had the ethereal look of youth about him. His chin came to a narrow point, and while nude it was clear that he was fully developed, dressed in the proper clothing he could pull off being fourteen or fifteen. The Professor's critical assessment noted the muscle definition that had developed, and he was certain the wiry strength could also be hidden beneath a proper layer of clothes. Again, the boy pushed at the long drape of hair; that will have to go, he decided. The weapon took another step. Yes, the hair just got in the way, and was too defining a feature, bad enough those eyes were so distinct.
The brilliant green gaze coupled with the deadly gliding steps put the image of an eastern green mamba in to the Professor's mind. Weapon X was more like a wolf or perhaps a bear, some large hot blooded beast that was a whirlwind of savage claws and snapping fangs. It was a brutal creation designed to intimidate and destroy, striking terror in the hearts of its targets long before those nightmarish claws tore them to bloody shreds.
IX was a different beast all together. It was serpentine in its stillness, and one look into those cold emerald orbs showed death would come just as swiftly, delivered in the blink of an eye. There was something deeply dispassionate in those empty jade pools, something that spoke to the hind-brain, and whispered that green was the color of poison, the color of death. It was in that moment, as he nearly lost himself to the hypnotic gaze that the Professor realized almost too late what was happening.
The weapon was active, and it was stalking them. His strong voice spoke just as IX began a lightning fast strike aimed for the nearest tech, the one who opened the hatch. "4285-" the four digits were enough to halt the weapon. He turned to pierce the Professor with that unearthly gaze. Having IX's entire focus directed on him was unnerving, but the Professor didn't hesitate to complete the activation code "8284910583-210982905729-8492."
The effect was instantaneous. IX stood straight, and took on a waiting pose, obedient to the Professor's will. A thrill of undiluted power coursed through him, making him feel almost giddy with the realization that he could have the weapon kill anyone in the room. It took effort, but he set aside the intoxicating feeling, and turned his attention to Dr. Hendry and Dr. MacKenzie.
"Give him a full work up and do something about that hair," he said, then his flat grey eyes locked on IX. "Follow them, and do as they say," the Professor directed before turning to leave.
"Yes, sir." The monotone reply caused everyone in the room to jump. After working for months with weapon X, having one that could speak and reason would take some getting used to.
"Right," Dr. MacKenzie said after clearing his throat a bit. "Come along then," he directed, leading the way out of the lab towards the medical ward. It took more courage than he wanted to admit to give the short killer his back, but he knew that if IX wanted him dead, then it didn't matter which way he was facing, he'd be dead. Dr. Hendry brought up the rear, studying the subject's every move.
The walk to the medical ward wasn't a long one, but both men felt like they were escorting a ghost. The youth made no sound as he moved, and didn't fidget like most people when confronted by a new situation. Every move he made had a purpose. Dr. Hendry took charge once they entered the ward.
"Stand here," he said, placing IX in the center of the room. Metal clanged off of metal while he dug through the drawers in search of scissors sturdy enough to deal with the thick fall of ebony hair. Finally, he found a pair and turned back to his patient. "This isn't going to hurt, but don't move. I don't want to cut you," the doctor said before grabbing a large fist full of the waist length hair.
Snip, snip, snip, snip, long locks of black hair fell around him, and IX approved. The unusual weight that pulled at him from the moment he woke, decreased with every cut. Long hair was a vulnerability he could ill afford. It gave his enemies a hand hold, obscured his vision, and inhibited his mobility. A low humming sound came from the doctor while he worked. The unusual sound was familiar in a distant way, and a small flash of faded memory passed cloud like over his mind. A memory of cold, pain, and being unable to breathe. He dismissed the memory as unimportant and waited for the doctor to finish his task.
It took nearly ten minutes to shear the mass of hair from three feet to three inches. Messy spikes of ebony covered IX's head, giving the weapon a boyish charm that made him look more like a school kid than some strange ethereal being that had stepped out of the turbulent ocean. He was still covered in drying green slime, now heavily dusted with hair clippings. Dr. Hendry wrinkled his nose at the ragged sight.
Sighing, he bustled IX off into the bathroom, and shoved him into the shower. IX followed the doctor obediently, and stepped into the stream of hot water. A low shuddering breath escaped him when the hot liquid cascaded over his flesh. It was a disturbing sensation. The water beat down on his exposed back, and deadened his hearing with its continual roar. He stifled feeling of vulnerability before scrubbing the green coat of goo from his skin and hair as fast as possible.
In less than ten minutes, IX finished and dried off before returning to the lab, unclothed and as immodest about his nude state as X was. "Done already?" Dr. MacKenzie inquired, studying the now clean youth.
"Yes, sir."
Dr. Hendry descended on IX and began a barrage of tests, beginning with general weight and measurements. "Hmm, 5 feet four and a half inches, and 108 pounds. Not an ounce of fat on you. Sit down." He directed the small man towards the examination table to begin a more in-depth examination studying at everything from his teeth, to his bone density.
"Don't bleed him dry doc." Dr. MacKenzie snorted when the doctor filled yet another vile from the vein at the crook of IX's arm.
"Don't you have questions you should be asking, instead of standing around?" Dr. Hendry snapped at the psychologist.
"Er, right. What is your name?" he asked.
"Weapon IX."
"Your age?" The question was met with silence.
"What is your earliest memory?" he asked after a short pause.
"Pain, I remember before there was nothing, and then there was language," he said without mincing words, or elaborating further. Dr. MacKenzie nodded, satisfied with the answer and the clear indication that the subject had no memories of his prior existence.
The questions continued in this vein as the psychologist assessed the mental stability, intelligence, and memories of the subject while Dr. Hendry scrutinized his physical wellbeing.
In the end, both were satisfied with the weapon's development, and signed off on further testing.
"It's amazing how much damage we were able to overcome. His bones were so brittle when the capsulea shattered that he'd had over a dozen hairline fractures, now they are healthier than any regular Joe off the street." Dr. Hendry chortled as he wrote up his report.
Dr. MacKenzie rolled his eyes at the words before he motioned IX to stand. It didn't take long to dress the boy in a pair of plain black jeans, and an equally bland shirt. The doctor signaled to the guard standing inside the doorway.
"Take him to level four. We'll start the first test at 0900, then we'll see just how much of the programming was successfully integrated." Dr. MacKenzie said, forwarding his quickly typed report to the Professor.
Cutler stepped forward, eyeing the new weapon warily. He was small enough that if Cutler didn't know the scientists as well as he did, and hadn't seen the way the boy moved, he would have thought IX harmless. But those cold calculating eyes, coupled with the smooth glide of a predator set all his internal alerts screaming danger.
"Come on," he snapped, nudging the boy ahead of him. He wasn't about to let the Weapon walk behind him.
IX studied the table full of weapons that had been presented for his selection. "You can use whatever you want kid, just kill them before they kill you, yeah?" Cutler said, watching the boy. His hand never strayed from the tranque gun at his hip. I hope to hell this stuff works better on this one than it does on X. Wouldn't it be just their luck to have two unstoppable killers running around?
The boy studied the weapons with a keen expression. When he picked up, and discarded more than one blade, Cutler couldn't keep the surprise off his face. He knew the brat had just gotten out of his tube, so how the hell could he handle daggers with such familiarity? Probably the same way X can have daggers spring out of his knuckles, no doubt the eggheads had something to do with it. Cutler, now the most experienced guard of the lot, and the one who'd been here the longest, knew one didn't get that status by asking nosy questions.
Soon enough, IX had two well balanced daggers strapped to his calves hidden in sheaths under his pants. Another sheath, designed to hold a dozen throwing knives, was secured around his waist. The blades rested comfortably against his lower back. "All set?" Cutler asked, suppressing the urge to suggest the brat strap on a few dozen more weapons. It felt like he was sending a toddler out into a maximum security prison yard with a spork.
"Yes, sir"
Cutler frowned at the emotionless reply. What the hell had the mad scientists done now? First, they made a half mad beast, now a robot? Again, he held his tongue, not his business. Nope, his business was to prepare the lab rats for the maze, not worry about the patchwork monsters sent in after the tasty morsels. That, and keep the damn things in line when they tried to turn and savage the scientists who insisted on prodding them.
"In you go kid, I'll go easy on you this time since it's your first round. I'll bring you someone who shouldn't be too much of a challenge," he whispered before ushering the boy into the large underground testing arena. This time, IX didn't bother acknowledge his words. Instead he stepped into the large cement arena, already focused on the task ahead. This time, the blood that spilled would be real. "How's that for gratitude?" Cutler muttered before heading to the level below to retrieve IX's first opponent.
He stepped into the long hall full of individual cells. Whistling, Cutler ignored prisoner's shouts, ex-lifers that had been approved by one of the Professor's associates and offered a deal no one in their right mind would refuse. Engage in a fight to the death, and go free. One of the benefits of Canada's refusal to execute its worst of the worst was that it left a number of men and women looking at an endless boring life behind bars. Of course, there were always those who would do anything for the chance at freedom, even risk death.
What they hadn't been told was that their opponent was a crazed mostly immortal killing machine with huge unbreakable knives sticking out of his fists. The devil was in the details, and most of these brutes weren't clever enough to ask. Cutler stopped when he came to Cassandra's cell. She was the only woman in residence, and he thought the brat would have an edge against her. At least she wasn't huge like the rest of the scum that inhabited this level.
Cassandra was given a life sentence after she'd been set up by a client, and the whole hit was captured on tape. She'd been one of the top assassins in Europe, and was damned lucky she'd been caught in Canada instead of jolly old England, where more than a few people wanted to see her dead. "You're up Kitten," Cut said, unlocking her cell. His gun was out, and pointed, while he slid open the door. She gave him a contemptuous glare, her haunting blue gaze like hard crystal.
She didn't bother attacking him, it would be worthless, and could result in an injury that could lower her chances of survival. Cassandra intended to survive. There was no doubt in her mind that no matter who her opponent was, they would underestimate her, and give her the opportunity she needed to end them.
"Don't vorry pet, I von't bite," she purred, a provocative edge to her tone. Cutler didn't take the bait. He liked his man bits right where they were, thank you very much.
"Keep moving," he said gruffly, prodding her in the back with the tip of his gun. Soon enough, she was directed through a door into a small room which snapped shut, locking behind her. The room held a table full of bladed weapons. Cassandra stalked forward to examine the offerings. She growled under her breath as she tested and rejected each of the five katanas. It was clear the swords hadn't been chosen by a master, but she wasn't comfortable with any other type of blade, so she settled on the second. Its balance was off, making the long blade feel uncomfortable in her grip, but she wasn't about to go into a fight weaponless.
When she was finished with her selections, a second door on the other side of the room slid open, revealing a large space beyond. With iron resolve, she stepped into the space beyond and found a large arena that had a number of metal shipping containers strategically placed to break up the open space. They gave the opponents cover when weapons other than blades were used.
She didn't notice the small shadow lying along the top of one of the containers while it observed her every move. IX slipped from his perch without betraying a sound when his target's scanning gaze moved on from his location. Above the arena, watching the first live test of the weapon, were the scientists in an enclosed viewing loft centered just under the ceiling. From their position, they had full view of the action below.
"What is he doing?" Dr. Cornelius asked when IX's demeanor shifted to something they hadn't witnessed yet. The subject's stance changed, his shoulders drooped a bit, his head tilted and those empty green eyes widened a fraction. Somehow, the subtle shifts made him look much younger. Young and terrified.
"Just watch," the Professor said, satisfaction rolled in his usual frosty tone when he ascertained IX's plan of attack.
IX took a frightened step into the open, wide green eyes looking lost and alone. Immediately, the movement drew Cassandra's attention. Her cold crystal gaze locked on him before softening. Anger washed through her veins when she realized they wanted her to kill a helpless kid, and her sharp gaze darted up to the observation area balefully before returning to the boy. His wide green eyes found her. A look of pleading, heartbreaking hope lit his young face.
"P-please…don't let them hurt me anymore." The broken whisper tore at motherly instincts she hadn't known she possessed. The Kanata was tucked though her belt before she closed the distance between them. Her hands now empty, Cassandra gathered the terrified boy into her arms. There was no way she'd cut down a child. That had been the only target she'd always refused in her profession. She'd take out woman, but never children.
"Shh, I von't hurt you. Ve'll get out of this, I promise. Vhat is your name child?" her voice was as soft as it ever got while she held the boy close, offering reassurances she didn't know she could deliver. The boy could be a distraction after all, a non-combatant she'd now be forced to protect when the real threat was unleashed. It didn't matter, she would still protect him with her life if need be. Who knew what these mad men had done to the poor boy, whatever it was, she wasn't going to let them continue hurting him.
"Weapon IX." The emotionless voice caused her to jerk back onto the blade poised behind her. The small four inch dagger slipped with ease between her ribs before plunging deep into her heart. As Cassandra fell, her stunned eyes locked on the boyish face, now void of fear. His emerald eyes held no emotion while he watched his would be rescuer collapse, her life's blood pooled at his feet. Even as she died, Cassandra couldn't keep the horror off her face when she realized what they had done. They'd turned an innocent child into a weapon, and he'd taken life with the same ease other children took sweets. It was so wrong, so twisted, that when the darkness claimed her, she couldn't help but feel a deep pity for the boy who wasn't, and never would be, a child.
"Well, that was rather anti-climatic." Dr. MacKenzie drawled, suppressing a shiver of fear. Deep down, he knew if the boy had pulled that little stunt when he'd stepped out of his holding chamber, he would have fallen for it and ended up as dead as the woman now crumpled at IX's feet. It was eerie to watch the subject shift from terrified boy, to cold killer in the blink of an eye, and to realize that the scared child was a mask, skin deep and utterly false.
"The weapon assessed the situation and chose the attack most suitable for his opponent," the Professor declared, satisfied with the weapons performance. "Go get something with a bit more fight," he demanded, not bothering to look at Cutler.
"Yes, sir," Cutler replied, his words an unconscious echo of the one's the boy had given him. He refused to admit that the efficient, devious killing method of the egghead's newest weapon made him feel ill. There was something sick about the way IX manipulated the woman into simply walking to her death like a lamb to slaughter. At least with X the lab rats know they're in trouble, he thought sourly.
Max was a mountain of a man, nearly seven feet tall, and roped with thick muscle. His mahogany skin was crisscrossed with knife scars, and Cutler knew the brute was a damned good knife fighter. If Cut was being truthful, he'd admit that he wanted to see IX punished for what he'd done to Cassandra. The kind feelings he'd had for the boy when he'd chosen her as his first target died on the edge of his indifferent blade, and now he hoped that Max got in a few good hits before IX took him down. Even though IX's waist was smaller than one of Max's bulging arms, Cutler had little doubt who would prevail in the upcoming contest.
These people are all just cannon fodder. It was something all the guards, and even the more squeamish of the scientists like Cornelius, who had protested most when the first of the criminals fell to X's claws, had come to terms with. But it was different with Weapon X, who was a killer in every sense of the word. IX appeared so small, so helpless. Watching him kill with even more efficiency than X, who tended to play with his prey, was shocking.
The huge man ducked to enter the weapons room. He chose two massive hunting daggers that looked more like short swards in the hands of an average person, but in those large paws they looked almost delicate.
"Come out, come out where ever you are." The deep baritone voice thrummed while Max's dark cavernous eyes scanned the arena. Silence met his request. With a shrug, he began hunting. It didn't take him long to find the remains of IX first victim. A snort bellowed out of him, and he kicked the body over to see the single wound in her back. "Let down your guard didn't you, Princess? Well, that won't happen to m—"
The word was cut off by the delicate blade lodged at the base of his skull, severing the giant man's spinal cord with indifferent ease. Like a mighty oak, the huge man swayed and toppled. His bulk crushing the smaller form of the woman already on the ground. He hadn't even seen the boy who stood up from his crouch on top of one of the containers.
"This is useless, the targets aren't durable enough to get a true reading of IX's skills. Retrieve X," the Professor demanded, exasperation underlining the words. He knew that even if he unleashed all the criminals he had in stock against IX, the boy would just pick them off from the shadows. No, they didn't have the skill required to put up a challenge.
"Are you sure that's wise? X will kill him," Dr. Cornelius cautioned.
"We will not give X the command to kill, only IX. If the fight gets out of hand, we'll abort the test. Now, go get X," the Professor said, his tone putting an end to further arguments.
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