AN: Hey y'all! I got a new chapter for you all! And good news, I plan on making part 2 after this since the two are so close together and all that. So I'm going to put the other main ones on hold until I get part 2 done.

*WARNING: This chapter contains Child Solider training, brainwashing, torture, and death.*

(Years ago)

****

Moxxie knew that trying to start fresh from a life of being a terrorist wasn't going to be easy. What little he knew of being "normal" was taken from him just as he started getting used to it. As such, there weren't a lot of jobs that Moxxie could apply himself for due to his "unique" set of skills. He had tried to use his musical talents, but the few gigs he could get didn't pay much. It also didn't help that not many people liked the soft and romantic stuff he played. Plus, not many clubs, save for those in Imp City, were willing to let an Imp get a gig in their place.

So Moxxie returned to the one thing he was made to do: kill.

He started as a gun for hire. Doing mercenary work, bodyguarding, and the occasional hit job or two. It was decent money, and he made sure that the people he was hired to kill deserved it. He didn't want to point his barrel towards an innocent person again. He had enough nightmares as it was that a bottle of booze could barely cure.

H.I.S.S. offered him a large share of the I.R.A.'s money after helping with their disbandment, but Moxxie wanted nothing to do with his old life. As far as Moxxie was concerned, that part of him died a long time ago, and he didn't want to risk it coming back. Besides, even if they forced him to take the money, Moxxie would have given it to charities to spite his parents.

It honestly was making Moxxie baffled on what to do now that his revenge was complete. The Imp Revolution Army was no more with his parents behind Hell's most secure prison; his siblings were all dead, and most of the forces were either rounded up, eliminated, or in hiding. It left him with nothing since his adoptive parents (his real parents) were dead because of them, along with the academy and the friends he had there.

If it wasn't for the fact he knew that his true parents wanted him to live, Moxxie would have just shot himself in the head and been done with it. It wasn't like he was a real Imp, anyway. Just an abomination that was built for one thing: to kill.

So when he saw this advertisement for "I.M.P," Moxxie decided to try it out. It was an assassination company that was looking for a ranged killer, and since he was designed to be the best sniper possible, Moxxie decided to go for it. A steady job would be better than just getting random jobs at random times.

"Congrats! You're hired!"

Moxxie couldn't help but blink upon hearing this. "Um, sorry?"

"I said you're hired. You start tomorrow," Blitzo, the boss of the establishment, said as he put his legs on the desk and sipped some coffee.

"But..." Moxxie looked at his resume, cover letter, recommendations, and more. He spent two hours preparing it and only sat down for ten minutes. "I haven't even given you my resume or gone over my experiences."

"Well, do you know how to kill?" Blitzo asked.

"Yes."

"And you've killed before?"

"Yes."

"And you can work on Sundays?"

"Yes."

"There you go! That's all I need," Blitzo said as he got up, walked around, and slapped Moxxie on the back. "You either do good at your job, and we'll have another good shooter on our team, or you'll suck and end up dead. If that happens, we'll just look for another guy while sending your body to your next of kin. We're not going to pay for the funeral, though. You need a year's worth of experience before we allow that."

"That's an...interesting way of doing a trial process," Moxxie said with a raised eyebrow as he got up and followed his new "boss" towards his door.

"What can I say? I like to be unorthodox," Blitzo said as he opened the door and smiled at his bored-looking Hellhound secretary.

"Loonie! Guess what! We have a new member on our team! Meet Moxxie!" Blitzo said as he picked up the smaller Imp and held him in the face of the Hellhound who just narrowed her eyes.

"Um, hi? I'm-" Moxxie didn't get a chance to finish as she grabbed him by the shirt and threw him hard into the chair nearby. She then went back to her phone while lighting up a cigarette.

"Aww, it looks like my daughter likes you," Blitzo said with a soft sigh of pride.

"Likes me?! She threw me against the couch!" Moxxie argued in disbelief.

"Yes, but not the wall. And Loona didn't bite your face off like the last guy," Blitzo said with a smile before frowning while rubbing his chin. "Then again, it might also be because he said that creepy pick-up line."

Moxxie then heard the front door open and saw another Imp, a female this time, walking inside while carrying a dead body behind her and covered in blood. It made her look more crimson than most Imps, and the giant ax in her other hand looked like it had been through some serious use. Smiling, the female Imp greeted everyone. "Hey, guys! I'm back!"

"Hey, Millie," Blitzo said with a smirk. "How was killing that target?"

"Kinda wish he put up more of a fight, but aw well," Millie said as she tossed his dead carcass into the middle of the room. "I did get to kill his bodyguards! They were way more fun."

"Did you use an ax to do that?" Moxxie asked in disbelief, as it seemed pretty illogical to not use guns.

"This? Nah, I also used a few daggers, a katana, some hand axes, a tomahawk, tiger claws, and a chainsaw," Millie answered with a bloodthirsty grin.

"That's an...interesting way of killing," Moxxie said as he got up and looked at the woman. She was clearly from the Wrath Ring based on her clothing and accent. Wrath held the largest Imp population and many considered it to be a backwater place with folks who lacked brains and got covered in mud. Moxxie had never been to Wrath before, but he knew some of the past recruits from I.R.A. that were from there. In fact, more than forty percent of all their forces had come from Wrath.

"Hey, if it works, then it works," Millie said with a bloodthirsty grin. "Especially if it's a means you like to kill."

"I guess," Moxxie said before asking. "So, do you work for Mr. Blitzo?"

"The "o" is silent," Millie, Blitzo, and Loona said simultaneously.

"Right, sorry. Mr. Blitz?"

"Naw, not officially," Millie said as she walked over to a water cooler, laid her ax on the wall, and started getting a drink. "Blitz and I have worked in the past, and he gives me jobs here and there, but I've never officially joined. Still not sure about it."

"Come on, Mills! You'd be perfect! You have a good body count and enjoy delivering death to people; if you join, we'll have an even-gender team! Wins for everyone!" Blitzo claimed with a smile.

"Hmm, maybe," Millie said as she drank her water. "I mean, I know I can trust ya, Blitz. Loona's a bit of a bitch, but I can handle her."

"Fuck you too, hick," Loona said as she flipped the bird while still looking at her phone.

"But what about your new guy?" Millie asked as she pointed to Moxxie. "Looks more like a windy breeze could blow him down easily."

"I'm not that fragile," Moxxie huffed as he glared at her. "And I've killed before. I got plenty of experience."

More than most Imps based on his past, but he wouldn't say that.

"Hmm, mind if we give a little test then?" Millie asked with a slight grin.

"Um, sure? What kind of-" Moxxie's years of trusting his instincts, combined with his enhanced eyes, made him see the two daggers coming right for his face a split second later. He dodged them and brought out both pistols to block the double-blade ax Millie was using by pressing forward and using both guns to press against the belly of the handle.

Moxxie gazed into her bloodthirsty eyes and narrowed his own. If Millie wanted to play, then they were going to play. He pulled back one of his guns to fire at her, but Millie tilted her head to avoid the shot before dropping the ax and pulling out two knives. Ducking and jumping back, he avoided her quick blows that almost made him feel like he was facing his sister, ACDN, in the training halls. Rolling back over the coffee table, Moxxie kicked it up and sent it to her face while firing bullets that went through it. Millie had dodged under the table and the bullets by sliding on her knees and diving forward. She shoulder-tackled him hard and threw her ax at him simultaneously. Moxxie hit the wall but rolled off it just in time to avoid the ax that dug into the wall. This was enough of a distraction for Millie to punch Moxxie and press him against the wall while drawing another dagger.

However, Moxxie pulled out a dagger of his own via his tail, going for the back of his pants, pulled it out, and made an effort to slice Millie. She dodged the blow and had a short knife fight between her and Moxxie's tail, which she won by disarming it. However, Moxxie backhanded her with a pistol whip that sent her skidding back. Millie rubbed her bleeding lip a bit and grinned, almost as if she was excited by their little match. Moxxie flipped his guns and aimed them at her, smiling back as if daring her to try and fight him again. Millie replied by dashing forward, avoiding his gunshots before she got up and closed and attacked him again. Only this time did Millie use her daggers on his guns and slice the barrels in half.

She tried to stab Moxxie, but he grabbed her wrist and flipped her over while getting out a mini-uzi. He unleashed the entire magazine as Millie flipped, ducked, and slid under furniture to avoid the rapid-fire machine gun. Once he was out, she charged at him again. Sending a kick to Moxxie's face that knocked him on his back. Millie dived down and pressed a knife against his neck, the two staring at each other eye to eye and grinning as she held him at her mercy.

"Gotcha," Millie whispered with a lick of her lips.

"So did I," Moxxie replied with a smirk.

Millie looked down and saw that Moxxie had pulled out a smaller 9mm gun and it was pressed against her heart. Chuckling, Millie got up and held out her hand. "You're good."

"Thanks, you were too," Moxxie said as he took it and sat up.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Millie asked curiously as she looked him over. "No offense, but you look more like an account the way you dress."

"Oh, just around," Moxxie said as he shrugged before smiling at her. "But you were pretty good yourself. I've never seen anyone use a knife like that or react so quickly. No wonder you're such a good killer."

"Aw, now you are just being a flatterer, you little cutie," Millie teased as she blinked her eyes towards him, which made Moxxie blush. Now that he looked at her up close, she did have a nice set of eyes.

"Oi! Lovebirds!" The two turned to a narrow-eyed Blitzo, who had his arms crossed. "Nice as it was to see you two duke it out, you wrecked my office."

Wincing, Moxxie looked around and saw the ruined furniture, holes in the wall, and slash marks on the floor. "Um, I take it this is going out of my first paycheck?"

"First three paychecks," Blitzo corrected but he sighed. "Still, if you can go at it with Millie and still be standing, then you are definitely hired. Welcome to the team, Mox. Just try not to be a fuck up."

"Y-Yes, sir," Moxxie answered as he sighed. He'll have to get a few extra gigs just to pay rent, but at least he has a full-time job now.

"Hey, Blitz? Take it off of my pay for the job," Millie said apologetically to Moxxie. "It was my fault, really. I started the whole fight. In fact, you can hire me full-time now."

"Wait, you want to join?" Blitzo asked in surprise.

"Let's just say...I'm kind of interested in the company's company," Millie said as she darted to Moxxie and blushed.

"...Oh," Blitzo chuckled as he looked at the two new hires. "Well, this is going to be interesting. Consider it done. Moxxie, why don't you take Millie out for lunch to celebrate you two being now coworkers. She can show you around."

"Oh, there is a really great bar we go to called The Hellhole! You'll love it," Millie said as she took Moxxie's hand and dragged him out of the office. He couldn't help but blush while this was being done, but he didn't mind for some reason.

He felt he would get along well with Millie going forward.

***

(Present)

***

Moxxie groaned as he woke up, staring at a white ceiling that made him panic for a bit before he forced himself to calm down upon realizing he was in Stolas's Hospital Wing. That panic soon resurfaced as he remembered about his wife and soon turned to his left. He all but dashed to her side with the bed cover still dragging with him as he looked closely at Millie's peaceful sleeping face. Whatever healing Rachmiel had done had removed the injuries on her face and left no scars. Even if that beautiful face was horribly damaged by the bomb, Moxxie wouldn't care and still see Millie as the most beautiful demon in the nine rings.

Teary-eyed, he kissed her forehead while holding her warm hand and kissed her belly. Two lives were nearly lost because of him. His wife and child. If he lost either or both of them, he might as well toss himself into the spear of an Exterminator and end it all. With that guilt swirling inside of him, rage was also swarming beside it: rage at his brother. He didn't even wait for the promised deadline and instead went after Moxxie's wife. He was going to kill his brother, and this time, he was going to make sure he killed him right.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Moxxie whispered as he nuzzled her hand to his cheek. Tears dripped from his eyes as he let out a small sob. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry..."

"Ahem?"

Moxxie cleared his eyes with his sleeve and turned around to see everyone else nearby staring at him either with sympathetic eyes or gazes of suspicion. He had been so focused on his wife that he failed to realize he wasn't alone. Sniffing, Moxxie turned to the others and lowered his head. "I..."

"...Are you okay?" Blitzo asked with a calm and severe voice rarely heard from the Imp.

"...No," Moxxie sighed as he shook his head. "I'm not."

"...We have questions, Moxxie," Stolas said as Moxxie winced upon hearing this. Of course, they would question what had happened and why Tyson had done this.

"Like, for starters? What the fuck are you?" Loona asked seriously as she folded her arms and glared at him.

"Loona," Octavia chided her for being blunt, but Loona didn't say anything back. Sighing, the Owl Princess said, "What Loona means is...we kinda...well..."

"We know you're not a normal Imp or whatever demon you are. Rachmiel here called you a sinthetically made demon," Blitzo said as he pointed to the angel.

"That's synthetically made demon, Blitz," The angel corrected.

"Yeah, what I said."

"...Oh," Moxxie lowered his head and sighed. He felt like a huge weight just slammed into his chest as he forced himself to not think about the many excuses he had used in the past for certain moments like this. "Of course, you'd find out in a medical exam."

"Well, it was only natural," Rachmiel pointed out with a shrug. "I'm surprised no other doctor has ever discovered this before."

"That's because the H.I.S.S. always falsified the records to keep my condition a secret," Moxxie answered as he figured it was pointless to hide anything anymore. If anything, the hiding of his past was the reason he and Millie got hurt in the first place.

"Wait, the H.I.S.S.?" Stolas asked in shock as everyone, save for a confused Rachmiel, looked at Moxxie with wide eyes. "How are you connected to Hell's Intelligence and Special Services?"

"It's a long story," Moxxie muttered. He then felt a particular hand grip of his own, and he slowly turned around to see an open-eyed Millie looking at him, both with anger and concern.

"Then tell us," she whispered as she slowly got up and stared into her husband. "I want to know everything."

"Millie..."

"Don't. Millie. Me." She said firmly in a tone that made everyone nearly step back. "We've been married all this time, and not once have we kept secrets from each other. Until now."

She held her husband's hand with both of her own.

"Moxxie, I love you, but that doesn't mean I don't get angry at you occasionally. And I am furious because you've lied to me this entire time. You've lied to all of us about your past. You said your parents were music teachers, and they died. Is that a lie? You said your siblings are all dead, but your brother is not only alive but tried to kill me. Tried to kill our baby," She emphasized. "Was that a lie? I thought I knew you, and it turns out I really do not. And the last thing I do not want to know is if our love was a lie, so tell me what is the truth and what is not because...I want to know if the true Moxxie is the one I fell in love with."

Both teary-eyed Imps stared at each other, nobody saying anything out of respect. Moxxie slowly lowered himself and kissed his silently weeping wife on the forehead. "I'm sorry. I have lied. About...so much...but never my love for you. That was never a lie."

Sighing, Moxxie slowly reached for his sleeve. He hesitated for one minute before slowly lowering it, revealing the one part of his past he couldn't erase. No matter what method he tried, it would never leave his body. The only proof of what he was born was. A weapon. His true name.

ACDS-131524240905

"What's that? Some weird tattoo?" Loona asked.

"...It's his name," Blitzo answered, which got everyone to focus on him. "He showed it to me once. When I was recovering in the hospital. Said it was his real name."

"How the fuck can a serial number be a real name?" Octavia asked in confusion.

"Because that's what my parents named all their weapons," Moxxie sighed as he took a deep breath. "It stands for Artificial Combat Designed Sniper . My entire purpose was to be a weapon. A special super soldier and assassin meant to eliminate my parents' enemies and the enemies of our organization. My siblings and I were created with alchemy, bio-augmentation, some cloning, and a bunch of other magical means I know very little about. I wasn't born the natural way despite holding my parent's DNA. I was made in a test tube, experimented on, and trained to be a perfect little soldier from birth."

Nobody could say anything but stare at Moxxie in shock and disbelief. There had been instances of demons being born in unnatural ways, but never had they heard of something like this being done. Even Stolas, a master of magic and science in many fields, had never dreamed of such a thing being possible. Rachmiel, being a medical expert, was looking so flabbergasted he looked ready to have his mind blown by the sheer complexity of creating so many artificial bodies explicitly made to be weapons. As such, he quickly put his mind into overdrive. "B-B-But that would require several complex factors to even create such a being! First, you would need to create a typical homunculus shell, combined with a simulacrum circle focus, use the various elements needed to create the alchemic compositions of a physical body, various blood rituals, chemical balance and hormonal augmentation, and then-"

Loona shut him up by slamming his beak closed with her paw.

"Yes, well, complexities aside, even I know that such a thing cannot just be done without numerous resources and wealth," Stolas said with concern. "How were your parents able to do such advanced magical and science achievements on...you and your siblings? No offense, but Imps do not have this power and influence."

"My...parents are not normal. They've lived longer than most Imps, centuries past the normal age when we die. All I know is six hundred years ago, they had a mentor that taught them all they know, including how to extend their lifespans," Moxxie grumbled as he felt his anger rising upon thinking of them. "They've had years to perfect their craft. As for the resources? Well, when you're the head of the Imp Resistance Army, that's not a problem."

"The I.R.A?!" Everyone but Rachmiel shouted as they stared at Moxxie in disbelief.

"Um, the what?" The Spirit Healer asked in confusion. "Who is that? They sound like the Irish Republican Army."

"Yeah, well, they're not far off," Blitzo sighed. "Basically? They were a terrorist organization that killed a lot of people over the past three hundred years. They were trying to overthrow the natural hierarchy of Hell by causing chaos and urging the Imp population to revolt in a massive revolution to dethrone the nobility and establish a new order."

"Only they targeted anyone they deemed a threat to their revolution, including other Imps who spoke out against them," Loona spat in disgust. "Numerous demons on all levels of the hierarchy were a victim of their assassinations, bombings, and raids."

"There have been Imp Revolutions in the past, but none of the others had come close to making the Nobility sweat. The I.R.A. was the first to do so before they were destroyed," Stolas said as he shivered. He would not deny that he sometimes lived in fear of his daughter getting killed in a car bomb made by the I.R.A. They had support everywhere, even among the noble servants who were more than happy to slit the throats of their masters. However, Stolas was glad those he had in his employment were so loyal to him that they were willing to risk their own souls for him.

"...You were a terrorist?" Millie asked with a heartbreaking tone.

"...Yes," Moxxie answered with a heavy sigh. "I was made to serve the I.R.A. Live for it, kill for it, die for it. I was a weapon. Nothing more."

"And you were made to be that weapon?" Rachmiel asked.

"Me and my siblings. Especially my batch siblings," Moxxie answered.

"Batch siblings?" Blitzo asked.

"I wasn't the first ACDS that was made. There were plenty of others before me that all died," Moxxie answered as he sat down on his bed. "My siblings and I were each made to be super assassins. Each of us is designed to be the best in a specific field of killing or special ops: sniping, poison, spying, demolitions, CQC, assault, heavy weapons, infiltration, interrogation, kidnapping, hacking, and so forth. But they wanted the best of the best. So every time they needed a replacement, they made a new batch of us."

He then took a deep breath and let it out. "And tested to see who among us was the superior."

***

(Years Ago)

***

" Wake up my children. It's the dawn of a new day. And you have things to do."

That was what the voice of Father said on the speaker as 905 opened his eyes while breathing heavily. Sweat was pouring down his face, and as he lay in his cot, dressed in a green hospital gown. His mind was swimming with memories of what happened last night, but all of them were like blurs that he couldn't focus on. He saw Imp doctors with needles. I.V. with multiple liquids in various colors being injected into him. There were some knives and sample collections. A number of his batch siblings, lifeless and unmoving, being carried off to be burned in the furnace.

905 slowly got up and knew he had to get appropriately dressed for father. Lateness was punished severely as the first rule he had come to learn was to always listen and obey his parents. His dull gray padded wall only held his cot, a toilet and sink, and a small dresser to hold his clothes. No personal items. Not weapons. No mirrors or windows or TV. Just the bare necessities he needed to survive.

905 washed his face to wake up and dressed himself appropriately. A black turtleneck shirt with combat jeans and boots. He walked over to the door and waited for it to open, as there was no way out or in by his own means. Those outside watching him from the cameras could only do so. A buzzing noise was heard, and the metal door's locks slowly opened before swinging to allow 905 to finally walk out.

The first thing he saw was his batch sister, 114 , walking out simultaneously in the same type of clothing as his but tailor-made for girls. To his right, 905 saw his other batch of siblings arriving. The ones allowed to live at least for passing their medical exams. Each of them was the same so that one could mistake them all as sextuplets yet held various differences in appearance:

114 was female and had longer hair with shorter cheekbones.

712 was male and held no freckles and slightly longer horns.

091 was a male that looked closest to looking like 905, but he had black hair instead of white.

921 was male but had bigger eyes and a smaller chin with longer arms than the rest.

And 487 was female but thinner than all of them.

All stood in attention except for 712, who looked like he was barely standing but doing his best not to collapse. 905 only had his eyes on him briefly before refocusing his gaze forward. If 712 was weak, focusing on him would be no good. Weakness had no place in the I.R.A. and their glorious mission to free their kind from the chains of their tyrants.

The footsteps coming down the hall made 905 stand more alert as he knew who was coming. It was rare that Father or Mother came to visit them to focus on their children, but this was important. With the previous ACDS dead, one of them was to become the new replacement to join their other non-batch siblings for the glory of fighting and dying for the I.R.A. A figure soon stopped and whistled, which caused all six of the Imp children to turn left in unison to gaze at the figure before them.

Father was always cloaked in black with a white devil mask on his face. One of 905's batch siblings, whose number escaped him, had asked why Father did such a thing. His response was simple: "Only the truest of my children will see me for who I am. The rest will be denied that in life and death."

905 would not deny that he wished to see Father or his Mother's face, but he knew it would have to be earned. Everything in life needs to be achieved one way or another. Only the privileged elites didn't have to do as they got everything by sucking it from the workers, laborers, and ordinary folk who were victims of their power and corruption. It would be these parasites that 905 would be tasked to eliminate should he be picked.

"My children," Father said as he addressed them all. "I am proud that you are ready to complete your final training to see which of you will become the next prime fighter in our grand army. However, sadly, your other siblings were not worthy of this and were disposed of. You six are the remaining ones that shall compete against each other to prove that you are worthy."

He then raised his head. " 712, are you alright?"

"I...I did not sleep well, Father," 712 answered. "I do not...feel well..."

"I see," Father said before pulling out a pistol. One shot later, 712 finally collapsed and wouldn't stand up again. He refocused on the remaining five. "Weakness has no place in our army. You have no use if you cannot do your job or task. Understood?

"Yes, Father," They all said in return.

"Good. Now, let us begin."

***

Any sniper's most natural and essential skill was to shoot their target at proper distances. Most top-grade snipers could hit their targets about 1,200 meters or 4,000 feet. ACDS was meant to be better than that. Their goal was to be able to hit 1,500 meters or 5,000 feet. But it also wasn't just aiming and shooting.

Contrary to popular belief, the crosshair on the scope of the sniper rifle didn't mean that where you aimed was where the bullet was going to land upon impact. You had to account for wind speed, earth rotation, gravity, bullet velocity, movement of the target, and other factors that required a lot of quick-thinking math skills. Doing this helped adjust your aim to hit the target successfully. One wrong missed calculation could mean the difference between life or death, and for snipers, getting the kill on the first shot was a must.

905 aimed his modified SSG 69 based sniper rifle to his next target after taking out another. Most SSG 69s were meant to fire only 800 meters, but top-of-the-line arms dealers and weapon manufacturers from Hell had created a unique brand that allowed it to go further. The scope was made with griffin eyes that were see-through, allowing a magical viewing port from one end that was normal while the eye was on the other end that could zoom in. The barrel was black hell steel and extended six inches, while the chamber was custom-made with power runes to give the bullets an extra kick. Said bullets were also custom-designed using a unique brass in the Ring of Treachery mines called Cull Brass.

905 reloaded his weapon and started aiming at the next target on a large mountain with numerous targets. At the same time, the five remaining batch siblings fired from another nearby mountain across from their targets. The targets were not your standard ones. They were the families of former I.R.A. members who had betrayed or failed the organization in ways beyond forgiveness.

Some were wives, others were fathers, and more than one was a child. Each of them was staked and chained as they struggled to escape, but each found themselves with a bullet in their bodies eventually from the five sniping children. 905 knew that hesitation to kill the traitors's families would mean death. He remembered 814's hesitation and refusal to kill a civilian during their "First Kill" training, and he was killed on the spot by his mother. She said that anyone not on their side was an enemy or sheep that supported the enemy.

In the fight for freedom, morality had nothing in the name of success. They were fighting a war against a force greater than their own. Hesitation would equal defeat, and if civilians who refused to fight and die against their masters who used them as slaves didn't fight with them, then they were just sheep who needed to be slaughtered to wake up the masses. And while 905 did feel something each time he killed one of these targets, he buried it deep down and remembered his training on controlling his emotions. Mainly that they had no use on the battlefield. Still, he did focus on the adults and the children to keep that effort of burying it down easier.

"Time," Father said as 905 retreated his eye from the scope after popping off the head of an older Imp who had been sobbing after he saw his wife's head explode from a bullet.

The five of them got up and held their sniper rifles against their shoulders while waiting for Father to address them. "You all did well. Good shots. Each of you hit your targets in deadly areas that would kill most."

Then he stared at 487. "Except you, 487. You missed one of your shots."

"The wind speed was faster than I calculated," 487 answered as she tensed up.

"Regardless, ACDS is supposed to hit a target every time. A missed shot can mean the success or failure of a mission. And you failed," Father said.

BANG!

A split second later, another sniper from a hidden location put a bullet right between 487's eyes. The impact knocked off her legs, and she fell to the ground, her glazed eyes staring up to the sky as a trickle of blood came down her side from the hole on her forehead. Two members of the I.R.A. walked over, grabbed the body, and tossed it down the mountain while the rest of the siblings merely stood there without moving or flinching.

"Come. It is time for your next task," Father said as he ordered his creations to follow him, and they did so without hesitation.

***

Live fire from machine guns sailed over 905's head as he crawled as low as he could. Their next test had been an obstacle course of dangerous proportions. Whoever designed it made sure that one mistake would mean certain death as they filled it with every kind of trap you can think of, from spikes to snakes to bullets to arrows to bombs to fire and poison gas. You had to move from one room to the next, doing your best to avoid instant death if you wanted to survive. 905 had come close to brushing with it once or twice, but he had survived so far by his own skills or luck. Maybe even a combination of both if he was really thinking of it.

Getting up from the ground, 905 entered the last room he needed to escape to complete the course. It was a long cylinder room that went very high up. There was a single rope to climb and nothing else, but it was a long climb. 905 could already feel his body burning in every area, both internal and external, from all the rest of the tasks he had done to survive. However, all he required was just this one last climb.

Grabbing the rope, 905 started to scale it up methodically. Too much haste and 905 would burn his remaining energy, but going too slow would leave him victim to whatever trap was left. Even if nothing appeared wrong, 905 left nothing to chance as every room had some kind of trap. Such as one room with only one door, but activating it caused a guillotine to come down and slice you in half.

It was when he was 1/4th of the way up that 905 's concerns came to fruition. Holes opened at the bottom of the room, and a silvery-gray liquid started oozing out. There was no smell to describe it, but 905 remembered his poison training and realized what was slowly filling the room: liquid mercury. Even a touch of the stuff could be fatal; drowning in it would be instant death. 905 started climbing higher and faster with each pull of his muscles, but the flowing liquid began to gain traction. Gritting his teeth, 905 pushed himself using every part of his body despite the pain.

His hands were blistered, his arms were on fire, his legs were begging for release, and even his head was pounding from the pulsing of the pressure he was in. Hell, he could even hear screaming in his ears. Despite this, 905 still kept going. To be the best. To win. To survive. To be ACDS. Even when the liquid mercury was hot on his heels, to the point where he had to keep his tail up, he did not give up as the exit was seconds away.

Deciding to take a risk, he used his left strength to jump and grab the ledges. He lifted himself just as the liquid mercury was about to touch his feet and rolled onto the surface of the platform for a bit before laying on his back. He breathed in relief as he tried to calm his beating heart. He felt a shadow hanging over him and opened his eyes to see his father standing and looking down before him. 905 quickly got up and, despite the pain in his legs, he stood ready.

"Well done, 905," Father said as he turned his head along with 905. To the left of him, near one of the other exits for the course, was 114. "You and your sister are the only ones left. 091 fell into the spike trap, and 921 was not quick enough to escape the liquid mercury."

So that's what the screaming was, 905 thought to himself for a second.

"Only one test will remain. Are you both ready, my children?" They nodded. "Good. Follow me."

***

Their father led them to a room with a single light above them. In front of 905 and 114 were two small tables with parts of a disassembled Glock 17 and a full magazine ready for use. Their father's instructions were simple. Reassemble the gun, load it, and fire at your opponent. Speed was the key to winning as both of them had good aim. It was all a matter of who was fastest in putting the gun together. Both were instructed to wait for the signal and stood still while only gazing at the other.

905 tried to think about anything regarding 114 from memory but couldn't. She was just as skilled as he was and had to be one of the best to get this far. 905 knew that, in most families, the brother and sister do not try to kill each other, but as their parents and trainers have said, the sacrifice for a more significant movement was vital to achieving success. The odds were heavily against them, so all thoughts of hesitation, morality, and social norms needed to be thrown out the window. When facing the beings that could go toe to toe with Angels, you needed to be as ruthless and cold-heated as possible. It was for a better future for Imps. Ones where they were not slaves, servants, or oppressed by the corrupt capitalist oligarchs who only cared for themselves.

905 and 114 were the tools to make this future possible. And only the best tool was required. The best weapon is needed. It could only come down to one of them.

The buzzer went off, and both went to work as fast as possible. The two have put apart and reassembled every gun given to them multiple times for hours. It was like clockwork to them:

Slide the barrel into place.

Place the reload spring and guiding rod into the drop-down piece.

Compress and push down on the first ledge.

Marry the frame and slide.

Pull.

Reload.

Aim.

Fire.

BANG!

905 held his smoking pistol as he looked toward where 114 was standing. He slowly lowered his handgun and walked over to his sister's side. His sister was lying there, a bullet wound in her chest, as she coughed up blood while her finished Glock 17 was lying beside her. 905 gazed down at 114, looking at him with fading eyes. As they did, 905 saw something that made him curious and confused. There was relief in her eyes.

Why?

Why was she relieved that she was going to die?

905 never got an answer as she slowly closed her eyes, and her head went limp to the side.

The door opened, and two figures walked in, but 905 continued to stare at his dead sibling. His last batch sibling. There were no others left but him.

"My son," He heard a woman say as she touched him on the shoulders. "I am proud of you."

"Indeed," Father said behind him. "You have earned the right to be ACDS-131524240905. You are now part of a greater family and a greater purpose. The freedom and liberation of all Imp kind."

ACDS slowly turned around, gazed up at his parents, and saw their faces for the first time. His father had his face but was much older and much taller, too. His eyes were slanted downward with a glare of both pride and expectations. His hair was snow white with a mullet design with a few black streaks. His horns were more white than black, but their physical size and design resembled ACDS's face.

Meanwhile, ACDS's mother was more round in shape, both in her face and waist. Her eyes were more open with gleaming intelligence, making ACDS feel like she was the most intelligent woman in the room. Her hair was pitch black, and her small horns were mostly black to, save for a white streak that twisted around the horns. She was also much taller than her husband and smiled more with adoration and care.

Seeing his parent's faces for the first time in his life, ACDS nodded and let out a small smile. "Thank you, sir."

"Come on, son," his mother said as she grabbed his hand. "Let us go meet the rest of your true siblings."

The three left the room while leaving 114's body inside without a care.