Grandeur Defector

VII

He was dreaming, memories just out of the mist of dream-walking.

...
A raven cawed. The twisted branches intertwined with each other overhead, the trees baring no leaves. Dead plants scattered the forest floor, disarray. Eleven walked on the path lay before him, the muddy walkway barely visible with the decay that covered it. A scorpion slithered out of a fungus spore. It crawled into the center of his fixed path, it's tiny tail waving in the air proudly.
What does this mean?
Oh, how strange life was. A tiny bug the size of your palm capable of erasing your life, like the smallest embers of a dying fire incinerating your life's story book. Each page burned, turning to ash, being forgotten to time.

Time was funny, wasn't it?
Never ending, never beginning, just simply damned to move forward. It had no direction nor purpose, it simply was. Eleven observed the scorpion in its own little world, trying to navigate itself through the mud. He had the urge to pick it up.
And so, he did. Not minding the clear danger it waved at him, he grabbed the insect and let it rest on his palm pad. It groomed itself with its claws, unbothered by a massive creature's close presence.
That's when he got to overthinking.

The General is looking for me, I know it. Why would there have been an attack otherwise? This camp poses little threat to the secret base, there's nothing of value here. He has to care. He wouldn't have shown me tough love all these years if he didn't... he made me who I am. He made me strong. I owe everything to him.
I feel like you sometimes, little bug. Alone, dangerous, afraid. I wish things could change, but even if they did, then what? I'd remain a soldier, I'd hurt more people, I'd serve until death or required reproduction service... that's my role. Right? Then, why? Why do I hate it? I'm supposed to love this life of mine, because he says it's easier than the worlds' lives.
We serve, we bare children, we die with our legacy.
That's how it's always been.
I wish I could've made friends. They would have died eventually, or hurt me— or worse. I wish that I didn't envy your stupid dumb green face.
Green...? He thought about Flippy. His face appeared in his dreams, a clear image in his mindscape.
That stupid goofy smile and those bright eyes of yours. Everyone talks to you, everyone looks up to meet your gaze. Those ridiculously beefy arms, stupid little hat. That hat of yours makes you special, huh?
You seem respected here. They don't try to harm you, and listen when you defend yourself. You are their equal, and I?
I am nothing.

He felt himself begin to shake.
I am nothing.
I am NOTHING.

The scorpion pierced his paw, it's stinger driving deep into the finger pad it was resting on. Eleven flinched and instinctually shook his hand, the scorpion falling onto the mud from the vigorous movement. Images that burned like hellfire flashed in his mind, faster than lightning, louder than thunder, stronger than an ox.

The Tiger Nation royal palace with blood splatters on the golden jade wall.
A child in the rubble, a gloved hand with metal claws outstretched.
A white room with nothing in it but a chair and restraints.
The sound of a man choking on his own cut fingers, the bone exposed.
The cries of a woman as heavy thuds ripped her life to shreds within a few blows.
An orange infant's head on a stake, eyes gorged.
The General grabbing his mouth and telling him to open it.
Agony, gas fumes, a heartbeat getting faster.

S-STOP IT!
He reeled, his breath quick as he hyperventilated in fear. Again and again the images repeated, a broken record he was forced to remember. The scorpion lay there, observing him and he wretched in place. Eleven fell to his knees as a cold sweat came over him. He didn't want this.
The General saying something in his ear.
His throat feeling tight as yellow metal claws gripped its sides forcefully.
The royal guards snickering to themselves, listening and doing nothing to stop it.
A child alone, a book's bloody page exposed.
The-