evanna

As I hold Bernard's tablet in my hands, I think: this is my epitome, this is my future. The file enclosed within the instrument I hold possesses a thorough account of who I am, what I am, and what my... alterations are. This is the key to unlocking the confinement around me.

At last, I can be free.

Free of doubt, free of burden, free of the chains holding me back from my potential. I will become the Red Hand's weapon, and I will take it as a forefront duty. We will end this with a dead president: we will ascend to a better world, one free of Diana Malcolm and the indoctrinated shells of people who live to obey her.

She is a mortal, not a god, as much as she might dislike to hear it. I can still put a bullet in her head and make every function stop working, her heard stop beating. This is how things are done on earth.

I die, therefore I was;  I kill, therefore I am. To kill is to liberate: to kill is to live.

The file is a cluster of dense information, and I barely know where to start.

From the beginning, then.

The whole of it is a dynamic masterpiece; from the way it's designed to entertain, its organisation, the careful crafting that has gone behind it... Video clips flash in repeating cycles in the corners, there are tabs along the sides. It's beautiful, a work of art. It's me.

1. homeostatic thermoregulation

2. lowering of core body temperature

3. increase in rate of metabolic pathways to...

My thoughts trail off as I read the list of my manipulated self. I have a body temperature of 28 degrees Celsius, some of my bones are encased in a gold-titanium alloy; I have around ten times the average number of neural pathways than a normal human being has. I am a machine of my own; the brilliant gone so far that it has turned upon its creator.

There are things in this file that I would not have even thought were possible.

"Julian," I call, as I switch off the tablet.

Julian appears near-immediately. "Uh huh?"

"I need to start my training," I say. "Look at all of this. I'm dying to try some out; Julian, I have the potential to do great and terrible things- and mind you, one great thing will be to kick Malcolm off her altar."

Julian snorts. "Yeah? So, what am I supposed to do? Stand around like your own punching bag to you can beat me to a pulp? No thanks."

I roll my eyes, setting the tablet down. "Are you any good with a pistol?" I ask.

Julian grins. "Now, that's the sort of question that hardly needs asking."

▿

As it turns out, Julian isn't too much of a shabby... mentor. They certainly know their way around firearms, and every meaningful bullet I fire onto the swinging target in front of me makes an impulse of pure satisfaction run through me, shrill and announced. I will be ready when I face our enemy.

"You need to imagine that your weapon is a part of you," Julian yells over the shooting range. I'm not the only one here. There are about a dozen trainees here, some as young as eight, others adults older than Bernard. "It's not metal, it's an extension of you. You are shooting, not the gun. Try again!"

There's a little dark-haired girl who stands next to me, holding the gun with both hands as she fires it towards her target. The bullet misses the human figure and goes smashing against the padded wall. Here is an example of someone who will die on the front lines, I think.

Dropping her arm for a minute, she looks up at me- and, to my surprise, I smile at her. Encouraged, she lifts her arms up and fires again. The bullet grazes the target.

IN comparison, Julian walks over to me and my near-decimated target. "Looking good," they say, and move on to help the little girl out.

I raise my arms again, breathe in deeply, and fire. It hits the pasted human silhouette in the head. I fire again, one, twice, thee times- five times, violently, with anger, with amounting satisfaction, because the only face I see on that target is President Malcolm's.  There's a certain danger that comes with power.

I fire again, and again, until all that's left of my target's face are the little craters formed from the bullets. Black cardboard shavings litter the floor.

There is nothing left to shoot at.

▿

Julian follows me out of the shooting range once they hand the trainees over to Francis: they want to see my file. "It's like you were actually created in a test tube," they mutter, scrolling through the modifications section. Has Bernard seen this yet?"

"Not yet, no. He said it was in my right to be the first to take a look at it."

Sighing, Julian turns the tablet off. "We need to show this to him. He'll know how to help you breach your maximum potential. Standing around with me yelling on how to shoot properly isn't going to help us much. He'll weaponise you."

"He'll rid me of my original purpose, you mean." I say. "I'm quite sure I was designed to protect the city."

Julian snorts. "And you're doing a fine job of it now, aren't you?" Still smiling, they wander off, presumably to hand the tablet back to Bernard.

By the time they return I've made myself comfortable on the room's creaky sofa, toying around with my pistol.

"Be careful with that," Julian says.

"I am being careful," I answer, smirking. "The safety's off." Sitting up, I put the safety on and place the weapon on the floor, inviting Julian to sit down beside me. "What about Vance?" I ask. "He's sent us the file-"

"Isn't that enough?" They interrupt.

"I have a worrying feeling that he's fluctuating between sides. I know I threatened that I would find him if he did something wrong, but I'm not a portable radar," I say. "He's still human, he still has emotions."

Julian laughs. "I doubt I'll ever grow tired of your condescending remarks."

"They are true."

"Which is why they're fucking brilliant." Julian says. "When Bernard had his men capture him, they put a tracker beneath his skin. He won't be able to find it, and detectors around the city shouldn't be able to find it either. We've got him under constant surveillance."

"And what happens, then, if he betrays us?"

As they give a nonchalant shrug, Julian's only expression is a grin. "We kill him."

a/n: so there you have it, the newest chapter! Sorry this was in late: if you didn't see the post on my message board, I've been down with a virus that's been attacking my joints, so I've been unable to type properly or write this past week.

Because I feel bad about missing the Friday update, there'll be a special chapter coming up on Wednesday, so stay tuned for that!

how to be the bee's knees:

vote if you liked it

comment on what you thought about it ~ do you stand with the Red Hand or not?