I am one of the greatest living investments humanity has ever made. I am the latest in a long line of genetically engineered and endlessly augmented military lab rats. No one outside the employ of this facility knows I exist. I have a mind of my own but not the allowance to use it. For sixteen years I have lived within a compound unmapped and unheard of.
I am sick of this life. I’m sick of injections. Endurance tests are pointless. Combat training is painful. The scientists are puppets. The generals are sadists. I get the shit kicked out of me daily. I hate my life.
Anywhere else in the world I would shine like the sun above all the dullards. I’ve said it before, I’d be worth more anywhere else. One of the technicians told me I’d only burn others, blind them. They’d never thank me for making them feel so small. I feel inconsequential here. No one would chose this life. I don’t want to be a soldier. I don’t want to help the suits rewrite the world. I will pass their tests to avoid punishment but never push myself like the rest.
I need a door, an exit. There has to be a way out. When I look for the exit I see gaps in formation and a path over the buildings. Stealth is my calling, it has to be. There’s no way I could possible fight my way out of this. I will leave at the optimum moment before they decide I have outlived my worth. They look down on me. I’m a waste of their money, a failed project. I know to much to leave and do too little to stay. Something will give.
My contemporaries are predictable. The clockwork of military engineering. They exist as pieces on a board and are subject to a weave of intention within a timetable. They are my greatest obstacle.
How can they accept this cruel, hollow existence. Why am I different? They should know that at the very most they are exceptional supercomputers, capable of ascertaining the limit of human potential through action more than ever before. Even the greatest supercomputer will become obsolete, eventually it will be turned off for good.
Immortality is not my goal. I don’t want to live forever I just want to live and die on my own terms. Why when they made me a cog did they give me cognition?
I think the physician is to blame for my conscientious awakening. Each of us has our own staff of lab coats who ensure we reach our potential. In that respect she is failing. While she tends my wounds and administers my injections she tells me about the world. She talks about the people throughout history who have fought, figuratively speaking, against the idea of a life like mine. She talks about Leo Tolstoy, John Lennon and Kurt Vonnegut.
She could bring me the books but I’m not allowed anything that isn’t approved by the board. I don’t know who the board are but I hate them. She’s been beaten for her ‘indiscretion’. She can’t leave or they’ll kill her family. If she tells anyone they’ll kill her family. If they think she’s considering revealing a detail of what happens here then they would kill her family. You get the picture.
The game can be beneficial sometimes, I enjoy weapons testing when I’m not the target. Weapons are a possible path to freedom. The idea is that eventually I’ll be handed a rocket launcher or limpet charge that I can use to blow my way out. One day I will escape and tell the world about this facility and everything they do here. No one really has to believe me. I only have to inspire enough curiosity for someone to look.
Training and tuition are endless. We have been taught to determine the frequency and amplitude of a sound and at what range that sound will be audible to human ears. The level of accuracy grows ever more difficult. We are punished for our failures with electric shocks. We are rewarded for correct answers with a free punch to any of the group we chose. They pack always chose me. When I use my free blow usually I knock out one of the guards. It’s actually allowed. They hate me too though.
We are taught to visualise a targets sightline and to use the sounds they make to determine their position and posture. I use the ability to calculate where my unit is within the dormitory at night. It doesn’t stop them. Sometimes I’ll make an example of one. I can be cunning, I’ve near killed a few of them to make a point. Afterwards they leave me alone for a while, just a while.
Every skill I have been taught rests within the arsenal I may call upon to free myself. It will be the last time I ever act in any way the scientists might find beneficial to their research. I will not help them thereafter. A new life awaits me beyond these walls. Patience is a virtue I possess en mass but we all break eventually. I have to find a way out as soon as possible.
Progress assessment no. 0179 : General Kuraumizu
Hachiro’s progress during the research programme has been hindered by his resistance to the programmes purpose. In combat he is defensive even against opponents whose wrath he surpasses. It has always seemed to me that Hachiro has more potential than any of the other patients. Sexism aside it hardly seems irrelevant to bear in mind that he is the only subject with a female physician. The physician in question seems to nurture his off task personality to the determent of our research. To realise his potential I have recommended the separation of Hachiro and Dr Sirona. His survival alone, despite the best efforts of the pack, displays his resilience. If his defensive default reaction could be converted to aggression I predict that he would surpass Ichiro in terms of combat skill.
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