In the midst of war, a lone protogen sets out to survive rather than thrive, after his ship crashes on earth. Will he make it back to a home he never had?
Disclaimer: this is a fictional work. Correlation between real world events and this story's c...
Blankets are a wonderful thing, especially when you have three of them. He felt warm in the dark, and very very safe.... Except somehow it felt brighter than usual, almost unreal.
He was back in his bunk on the ship, huddled in the corner where the comfort of the wall could anchor him.
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This was a decompression zone for new members that needed some peace and stability before officially joining the crew. It was the first thing that Captain Risha had provided, and although he had jumped in headfirst for his work as a part of Lemma's intelligence efforts...
he still found himself coming back to the safety of a bed quite often. It was more freeing than a stasis chamber, less... claustrophobic. Perhaps it spoke something to the creature that had known this body before he and his kind were transformed. Whatever was left of his less mechanical side... its organic instincts had flooded his mind ever since the moment he was freed.
But before he had ever even tested his own features, he was stuck in this room—frozen on emotional shut down, clutching his knife. He couldn't let go of it even in his sleep. Looking back at the time, it was just silly how long it had taken him to snap out of the haze.
The universe is massive, and yet he had been stuck in one little corner of it.
Nobody had judged him though, he remembered. Most of the crew (Tanto and Griffon at least) had probably received similar experiences before gaining their freedom from the Nehixim. The constant memory wipes, the random terminations, and worst of all were the atrocities that the Nehixim's pawns had been forced to commit against their own kind.
His own experiences with these issues never added up though. Questions of his past still ate away at him. As a soldier he had always been told that he was disposable, but during any firefight he was often protected in suspiciously hidden ways. The rest of his division had always seemed like more of a security escort than a bunch of random useless grunts, which left him confused to say the least.
A miasma of memory hung like fog as it played back in his mind. It was ticking through events like a tunnel until at last it settled on an unpleasant landscape.
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