Subject 7 lay in the dimly lit containment cell, his body still but his mind a whirlwind of activity. Sleep had become a refuge for him, a time when the chains of his physical prison couldn't bind his thoughts. As he drifted deeper into slumber, his mind conjured images of his past, fragmented and scattered like shards of broken glass.
These memories, though incomplete, were vivid in their clarity. Each fragment floated before him in the vast expanse of his subconscious, like pieces of a mental puzzle waiting to be assembled. He could see snippets of a life he had once lived—a life that felt both familiar and alien.
He began to piece them together, one by one. A memory of a gentle touch, a laugh shared with a loved one, the warmth of sunlight on his face. These moments, though frozen in time, offered him glimpses of who he had been. As he connected each fragment, a clearer picture of his former self started to emerge.
"I remember... a family," he thought, a sense of longing tugging at his heart. "A home. There was happiness, once."
The puzzle grew, each piece fitting snugly into place. He saw himself as a child, running through fields of green, carefree and full of joy. He saw a woman—his mother, perhaps—smiling down at him, her eyes filled with love. There were friends, laughter, celebrations. A life that had been stolen from him.
But as the puzzle neared completion, the memories grew darker. He saw men in white coats, syringes filled with strange liquids, cold metal tables. The pain, the fear, the helplessness. The transformation. The moments that had led him to become Subject 7, the perfect Xenomorph.
He was so close now. Only ten fragments remained, ten pieces that would complete the picture and reveal the full truth of who he had been. He reached out mentally, grasping at these final shards, determined to reclaim his identity, to understand the full scope of what had been done to him.
"Who was I?" he wondered, a mix of dread and hope filling his thoughts. "What did they take from me?"
As he worked to fit the last pieces into place, a sense of urgency overcame him. He needed to know. Not just for himself, but to understand the depths of the cruelty that had been inflicted upon him. To find the strength to fight back, to reclaim his humanity, even if it was buried beneath layers of alien ferocity.
In the quiet of his containment cell, Subject 7's body remained still, but his mind was a battlefield. He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. And when he did, those who had turned him into this abomination would pay.
For now, he slept, but his mind was alive with the echoes of his past, each fragment bringing him closer to the revelation that would set him free.