Facet 3

Facet 3

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Commissioned by Shaderic 

Wordcount: 2500

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All that matters in life is whether someone is disposable or not. Feel-good sayings about everyone being special are, as the title implies, about making people feel good. Mediocrity is the fate of the regular individual, just a slight step up from being an idiot, and those who have talent are those with any true worth. If you’re someone with advantages since birth over others, to the point where a little training has you catapult to the level of experts amongst the mediocre, then that gives you more worth than people who’ve spent their whole lives in a single field.

Just by existing, someone talented invalidates lifetimes of work and effort, and makes those without that utterly, completely worthless. Value is found in potential, in pushing boundaries, and furthering the profession as an entirety. Anything less is, at best, mediocrity with too much time invested. There are those who are special and those who are not. The former are cared for and the latter are tossed aside. 

Or, at least, that’s how the world should work.

By that metric, my situation was pretty ideal. 

I was born with a body that let itself get augmented more than anyone else in history, to the point where I was more supercomputer than humans, so I could take on Genger invasions by my lonesome in whole theatres of war. Given the situation of Earth being under attack by extraterrestrial species bent on terraforming it to their liking, regardless of what humanity thought about the matter, I should be a pretty big deal. I mean, just from researching how I fought, humanity got a leg up designing new weapons, tactics, and Striders. If investing in one man gets you the same effect as an army, and more than a little research projects that benefit the rest of the military, then it’s only reasonable that someone should value him, his contributions, and talent, right?

Right.

That’s correct.

I’m fucking pretty great.

So, why the heck am I in a hole!?

…

As far as accommodations went, isolation was a step down from five-star rooms and the best meals that money can buy. The walls didn’t have entertainment screens, nor was there even a bed. Instead of a foam bed perfect for my back, I had a concrete floor. If I lay down, instead of a nice, beige  color that calmed the mind, I enjoyed looking up at bars straight up into a hangar’s roof. The calming, musical arrangement I  usually had was replaced by the din of Strider maintenance, complete with a chorus of continuous coursing at drones who did jobs improperly, because they were in excess of their use-by date.

I was let out to piss, bathe, and eat every eight hours and got a blanket for the evening, but beyond that? My first three days in my new camp, despite my status being known to the commander, was spent in a literal hole.  

And, today was the last day, so the base commander was looming over me and looking through the bars.

As far as supersoldiers went, she fit the bill to a T. The regular civilian shit was still there, since she was probably born wealthy. Good figure, clear skin, and glossy hair abounded, even in a military uniform with accompanying coat and hat, but it was obvious my new superior officer did more than fight aliens. Naturally, most of my enhancements are extremely specialized prototypes meant to allow me to function at a higher level inside a Strider. However, before the Genger came along, humanity was killing itself as per usual, and there were still a few brush fires here and there that required good, ‘ole retroviral genetic engineering, extensive training, and practice in ending the lives of other human beings.

Suffice to say, my base commander could snap me like a twig over her knee.

With one hand, she opened the hatch of bars that kept me in my hole, then let herself in. The hatch was more for light than anything, since I couldn’t scale the smooth, ten-foot walls that surrounded my hole without the ladder the other soldiers used, but I was fairly sure that my new boss could just leap right out.

Thus, knowing her rank and her physical ability, I greeted her with the utmost respect.

“Sup.” I waved from my nice, concrete bed.”How’s the weather? Cold? I’m asking because you’re wearing a jacket and have a hat on. It’s giving me mixed messages.”

“I see that the past three days have done nothing to diminish your impertinence.” Augh, too many syllables. Cut down on the big words. Me words are no good. Pls, normal talky-talky for me small-brain. And, your boot is now a centimeter from my face, so I’m going to be respectful. Yes, ma’am. “Hmph, but still a coward in the face of adversity. How you’re touted as a hero of humanity is beyond me, soldier. Innumerable blessings of battle, yet you’re worthless as a human being.”

“If you’re going to threaten me into respecting you, can you at least make the effort to not make it so hard? Talk normally. Jeez.” I got up and avoided the boot of a woman half-a-foot taller than me, with no body fat anywhere there wasn’t supposed to be, and more lean muscle in her leg than I had in my body. Seriously, if she stepped on me, I’d probably die. And, not in the way fetishists enjoy. I mean, of course, literally die. “Like you said, I’m worthless as a human being, so being normally respectful is hard enough. Cut me some slack, lady.”

“Adversity shall better you, and you are in dire need of betterment, so I shall not.” Shall not. Betterment. Dire. What the fuck. Lady, I haven’t been around for a long time, but I’d like to think I’m pretty in the know with how people talk. Okay, that’s a lie. I really have no clue if you’re normal or not. You’re just weird to me and everyone else I’d met, so I automatically think you’re a weirdo because of that. I am bigoted and an asshole. That is all. “The skills you have are pertinent to humanity’s continued existence. I do not intend for your talent to diminish, despite the ease with which you shall operate in my combat theatre. If I cannot increase your combat ability, then I shall endeavour to correct your personality and habits.”

“No, thank you, but I’m good. I don’t need any character development. Surviving this place using the metal boxes you have will be terrifying enough. That’s plenty of personal growth there already, especially if you haven’t gotten my tin can’s shitty cardboard off of it.” Now, I wasn’t lying, even though I really wanted to be. I would very much like for the situation to be that I could wipe out Gegner with ease in the mass-production Strider. Lies about it being difficult would stream forth from my mouth nonstop, if that was the case. An easy day is the best day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. “So, how about you just let me out and I’ll do regular, normal things that pilots are supposed to do?.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” A smile formed on my new superior’s face. Despite my lack of experience in corporate culture, being a corporate wage-slave ran in my blood. My blood passed down the wisdom of generations upon me. Though my mother and father, as well as their mothers and fathers, were not with me I heard their words nonetheless. The hallowed words of my progenitors and predecessors were simple: you’re fucked, when the boss is happy. “Do not worry, if you have such candor and strength of will, it is a simple enough matter to redirect them to the correct path. I and my lieutenants shall see you become worthy of being humanity’s hero.”

I didn’t get another word in, before she took hold of my shirt, pulled me over her shoulder like a sack of grain, and leapt straight out of the hole. Though I to go back in right away, she merely chuckled while holding me in check, and dragged me to where she chose. My glorious attempt to introduce my face to hard concrete failed, so all I could possibly do was struggle in her grasp.

Quite frankly, it’s a stupid idea to fuck with a supersoldier, so I chose not to do so.

…

Pilots typically had the luxury of their own rooms. Even in the most shit of forward operations, giving people who piloted even the shittiest of warmachines warranted at least a little privacy. Such was not the case in my current circumstances. The rooms were broken down, communal areas set up, and bunk beds were assigned for each flight of Striders. I was given the locker, the bed, and the private-shower times of someone who now lay dead, buried, and… possibly at peace, given how shit the people I now found myself having to trust my life with.

“Huh, I thought he’d be less of a wimp, given how he’d mouthed off to ya, commander. The kid’s barely a few sticks and stones put together.” I was accosted immediately after my new boss tossed me into my new quarters. Landing in a heap of the center of four dual-bunks, I was then surrounded by my future liabilities. Five pairs of eyes regarded me curiously at first. Then, there was the judgement. And, finally, disappointment. Just like my parents and everyone else I’d ever met, so it was par for the course. “So, what’s the story? Some rich kid with some potential, sent over to be toughened up and get some accolades?”

“I don’t recognize his face. He’s likely just picked up from the gutter, so there’s no need to fret.” Gutter? I’ll have you know I was born in transit to the hospital. So, technically, five-or-so feet away from the gutter. My parents are poor planners, not planners who are poor, thank you very much. I tried to rise, but a hand kept me down. Oi. Don’t touch me. I don’t like being touched. Lack of human contact for extended periods of time have made being touched weird and uncomfortable for me. Please, just verbally harass me and ignore my existence, thank you. “He’s built to an acceptable level, at least. No malnutrition or sedentary side effects, as far as I can ascertain.”

“Well, he’s replacing Clara. Whoever he is doesn’t matter. The commander assigned him to this, you two are missing one in your trio, and so he’s yours.” Someone grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt. Once more, I was bodily lifted. Thankfully, this time, it was by a musclebound, titanic thug of a man with a jaw that could chisel through titanium, instead of a woman shorter than me.  “There’s no need for the chief to tell you jack shit. So, let the man make his introductions.”

I didn’t get the chance, even though i was standing and not sprawled on the floor. 

A single step forward by my new boss, the click of her boot heel against the floor of the barracks, was enough to command the complete attention of five veteran pilots.

“You will know him by the name I have given. He is to be held to the highest of standards of the military. He shall practice all that has been preached.” Every word was like a spike to the brain for me, but for the rest of the group it may as well have been divine prophecy. Looking at them over, seeing them all attention and filled with respect, just made it clear how fucked I was. I had no allies in this shithole, while she had complete control over it, because of some obscure reason that I didn’t know. “I expect him to be turned into the very model of a soldier, that which the whole world can look upon with pride, during his stay with us.”

So, my vacation away from my high-stress, terrible job where I’m likely to die everyday… is to a place where I’m going to have a high-stress, have a terrible job, and where I’m very likely to die.

How wonderful.

…

I really considered phoning it in. Pride is unknown to me. Actually, logically, it makes perfect sense to leave a place that promises to make you a better person, as long as you do what they say, and kill what they want you to kill. Ideally, anyone with two brain cells will leave any organization that gives only empty promises, takes no responsibility, and does no good for the betterment of others. I mean, technically, my new posting had me killing Gegner, but I did the same thing in my previous job with room service included.

And, here I had a commander with a stick up her ass, which I shall now name Miss Stick. My two new sandbags shall be Sandbag 1 and Sandbag 2, while the towering titan of terror that was my squad lead was going to be Sargeant. Why did he get his title? Because, people who can keep Strider pilots in check and together during battle are a special breed of crazy. The kind of crazy that can sniff out dissent and malice from a mile away, then send that dissent and malice off to mop up rain or mow lawns with scissors.

I’m a prick.

Not stupid. 

Anyway, obviously, none of this was by accident. I was where I currently was because someone wanted me here. Someone with a lot of pull, knowledge of my private affairs, and maybe a grudge against me. Off the top of my head, I can hazard that everyone who has ever commanded me, looked after me, and trained me fits tat list. So, about three dozen people would love to have me in my current situation, where I’m to learn discipline, and enjoy no amenities whatsoever. 

Again, I’m a prick, but now I’m questioning the stupid part.

Really, if I weren’t stupid, would I have so many enemies who are out to make me suffer?

Something to be introspective about later, but not now.

Now, as I lay on a foam mattress that was definitely providing too little back support, I was going to plan my escape. How, when, and why are all up in the air, but the fact remained that if I got out of the base, then made in the city, I could cause enough of a ruckus to get back to my nice, luxurious lifestyle that was occasionally fraught with death and destruction. If there were people out there playing dirty, then they at least have to be ready for me to play dirty too. 

Or, in other words, completely lose because I’ve had years and years of playing dirty on anyone else.

I win by experience alone.

Unfortunately, while I was congratulating myself,  the base alarms rang.

Great.

Dying here is basically a giant middle finger to all the jerks who sent me here.

Whether I survive this battle or not, I totally win!