Bionica: The War

Heartless

Thomas's eyes widened uncontrollably. His breathing sped up, and he could see the pale blue light in the middle of his chest getting brighter as his heart rate increased. It hit him that technically, he wasn't even breathing. It was a machine doing it for him. Even his "heart" was metal. "So..." he started, "it's all gone?"

"I'm afraid so," said Steele, walking closer to him. "The doctors did what they could to save you, but the damage caused by shrapnel wasn't anything we could remedy. If that girl hadn't found you out there, you might be dead right now. But on the bright side, you're alive, and you have this fantastic feat of engineering running through you." His eyes began to dance as he talked about his creation. "The machine works with the informium already inside you, which is keeping infection at bay, to keep your existing organs functioning normally while gracefully incorporating the mechanical parts." He paused for a second. "Well, Corporal? What do you think?"

What did Thomas think? That was too complex a question. There was a small amount of relief that he was alive, a bit of confusion (and gratitude) at hearing about this girl who supposedly saved him, some wonder because he didn't remember anything after the crack of the shotgun, an overwhelming feeling of horror at discovering he was part machine now, and the slightest measure of fear that it still wasn't going to turn out all right. But how was he going to say that to the man who had saved his life?

"It's amazing," he said, finding no other words.

Steele smiled. "I'm glad it's satisfactory for you." He snuck a passing glance at his watch and put a hand to his head. "Goodness, I'm late for the board meeting! Well, it has been a pleasure, Corporal. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me at my offices. Good afternoon."

"Sir," said Thomas. He smiled until the door had closed all the way. For a few seconds, there was complete silence as he made sure no one else would come in. Then a single drop of water found its way down his cheek, and he hugged his knees to his chest, mourning for his old life.

_______

"Welcome, everyone! Why don't you all have a seat where you can?"

Thomas chuckled at the man next to him in the wheelchair, who looked a bit offended by that comment. They were in some sort of rehabilitation group, as Steele had put it, but Thomas viewed it more as a bunch of beat-up sob-stories with a shrink. There'd be tears shed and pity parties thrown, but none of it would matter. Sharing feelings didn't get you out of this hospital any faster. The woman running the group couldn't have been taller than five-foot-two, with an athletic build and straight platinum blonde hair (obviously dyed, Thomas noted) pulled back into a French braid. She spoke in an incredibly high-pitched voice with a thick Southern accent and always had a piece of blue gum in her mouth. The chewing didn't help Thomas's nerves. He was only thinking that he couldn't let the shrink see what he really felt. If he looked emotionally strong for everyone, maybe he'd get let out sooner. That was all he wanted: to be out of that hellhole.

"All right, well why don't we get started?" said the leader. "We're just going to go around and say our names and something interesting about ourselves, 'kay? I'll start. My name is Mary Deane, and I recently transferred here from Atlanta, Georgia."

Thomas muttered under his breath, "Is the cheerleading squad breaking up?"

Mary Deane kept a smile on her face. "Let's try and keep the negative comments to ourselves, young man. 'Kay? All right, what about you, sir?" she said to the person on her left. His name was Trace, and he had some kind of cancer. The woman next to him was Martha, who had run a candy shop in her heyday. The man next to Thomas in the wheelchair was Mack. He didn't talk much. Then finally they got to Thomas.

"Oh, look. It's your turn, bless your heart," said Mary Deane. Her facial expression practically screamed, "judging you." "What's your name?"

Thomas smirked. He was going to show her not to disrespect him. "I'm Corporal Thomas Hunt. I've been in the special ops division of the military for eight years now."

The shrink's eyes widened, like she was afraid he'd whip out a knife or something. "Well, then... Corporal... we're glad you're with us. Next?"

After that, Thomas kind of tuned out and started looking at the room. It was painted white, with a bunch of cheesy motivational posters on the walls. One of them, which read Hang In There!, had a picture of a cat clutching a tree branch. Another had a picture of a smiling baby and read It'll Be Better Eventually!. Thomas's favorite was probably the one with the little redheaded girl on it. It said, Tomorrow's Only a Day Away!. Not in the army, Thomas thought. Tomorrow's a lifetime away on the front.

"Tom? Tom? Hello, ground control to Major Tom?" Thomas heard a high-pitched sound that seemed to form words. "Major Tom, I'm talking to you."

It was Mary Deane, who was looking at him with a pearly white smile and murderous eyes. He stared back. "It's Corporal. And I prefer Thomas if you have to use my name at all."

"Well, then, why don't you join the conversation?"

"What were you talking about?"

Mary Deane's expression soured a bit. "We were just discussing the hardships we have had to face so that we can make it better for you. It's your turn. So why are you here? What has traumatized you so much that you're here making snarky comments at those trying to help you be better?"

Crap. Thomas didn't want to talk about his feelings or whatever mushy-googoo stuff she wanted to throw at him. He'd just wanted to get there, pass the time, and get out. But he guessed it was unavoidable at this point, so he decided to get it over with.

"During my activation, I was involved in the massacre at Cleveland. My shield got thrown away from me, and I didn't have a gun on me. There were already military guns firing, but I heard a twelve-gauge cocking back from the crowd. After that, it's kind of a blur. My chest hurt a lot, and my ears were ringing. Evidently, some girl found me and brought me back to my commanding officer. Then I came here and..." Thomas looked down at the plate of metal that replaced his skin, feeling tears that threatened to spill. He kept his tone firm. "Icharus Steele was in my room when I woke up, saying he'd given me some kind of metal chest because my lungs and heart were pretty beat up. I'm basically Iron Man now, except Iron Man never had to do therapy. Thank you."

Hoping no one had seen the water in his eyes, he quickly sat back down and waited for the meeting to finish.

_______

Later that night, Thomas sat on the edge of his bed as a nurse took a blood sample. Once she was finished, she put away all her tubes and walked out of the room. Thomas smiled for her, but as soon as the doors shut, he allowed a few drops to make their way down his cheeks. With the moonlight streaming into his room, the wet spots on his sheets were perfectly visible. He didn't care. He just turned to the side, laid down, and cried himself to sleep.