Riftwalkers (Draft 1)

Code B-13

"THIRTEEN. STAND. DOWN."

The man in question pauses, holding the other man in a clenched fist by the shirt, the other fist reeled back ready to swing. He glances over at the commanding presence, a tall blonde man with a glowing red 'B-01' on his neck, the red signaling to anyone who sees that he is in charge.

"Thirteen. I won't repeat myself. This is your third offense this week."

Thirteen sighs. He looks down at the man under him, whose face was now bloody and bruised, and tears ran down his cheeks from the swelling and eye irritation. He felt no pity. He dropped him on the ground, and stood at attention, head tilted down slightly with a glare. The commander scowls.

"I don't have the patience for you, I've got more important things to be worried about today. Get out of my sight and consider yourself lucky."

Thirteen walks past, and as he does the commander speaks under his breath.

"Fucking mistake."

Mistake. Not an uncommon nickname for the soldier. Soldier section B, creation ID number 13, an unlucky number for an unlucky soldier. That's what he thinks anyhow. B-13 is only one of 20 soldiers in his section, and only one of almost 100 total soldiers and counting created here for a specific purpose.

To kill demons.

Thirteen wanders back towards his housing unit, a small space he shares with all the other hormone and rage filled creations that live here. These soldiers were created shortly after the first contact event, when the demons came to the human world for the first time to attempt some sort of communication. The humans felt threatened by the power held by these beings, and their appearances struck them as that of demons depicted in religious texts and art, so the humans dubbed them as such. Thirteen and all the other soldiers were genetically engineered after many failed attempts, created to be superhuman soldiers capable of taking down the beings much bigger and stronger than regular humans. The soldiers are... far from perfect beings. They have the strength, size, and mental coding to take on just about anything, but due to their need to constantly be alert, as well as the adrenaline required to function the way they do, they are constantly at each others throats. And not only that, but constantly in need of some sort of release. Such was the situation Thirteen found himself in. Not needing release, Thirteen has always been a... special case regarding his creation and hormones. His comrade was the one looking for release, and his other comrade, poor soldier B-12, once again was subjected to the violent sexual urges of his comrades. Thirteen despises it, and despite Twelve's fucked up mental coding that keeps him from understanding why it's bad or even remembering the transgressions against him, Thirteen does everything he can to protect his friends dignity and physical health.

As Thirteen wanders through the hallways of the main building, a familiar figure turns the corner ahead of him. He doesn't look up until the figure stops, and calls for his attention.

"Is that-? Yep. I'd recognize that grumpy face anywhere. What's up Thirteen?"

He chances a glance upward, and catches the man's smile.

"... fuck off Damien." He mutters.

The man scoffs, and then chuckles.

"Come on Thirteen, I can't be worse to see right now than those guys."

Thirteen thinks back to the soldier he was just rearranging the facial structure of.

"... I suppose."

"Sure sure, so I heard you got in another fight?"

Thirteen clicks his tongue.

"Yeah. Another bastard taking out his issues on the unsuspecting one. If they think I'm gonna sit there while they defile Twelve like that-"