I am Alive

Prologue

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[2451, July 4th]

[8:37 pm]

[New York, United American Empire. US Homeland Territory]

[10th Annual Independence Day Live Reenactment of the American Revolution]

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An AI with a bright smile and charismatic features appears on the screens of all who were watching the the American Revolutions Reenactment. It was the 10th year that this event has been held, in which thousand of Homunculi were created to kill each other with the recreations of the primitive muskets while retelling the legendary tale of how the United American Empire had its humble creation as farmers fighting against tyrants. The Artificial Intelligence began to speak, announcing the next act of this glorious and patriotic event. "Greetings my fellow and proud Americans! Next up, we will be broadcasting the one act that is looked forward to every year since its debut, the most brutal and bloodiest battle of the Revolutionary War! The Battle of Oriskany! One of many battles that led to the turning point of the war in the favor of the glorious American Revolutionaries! Although much American blood was spilled on this battle, it was not in vain, as we can all see now! Enough talk, lets get to the battlefield and observe the bloodbath!" The AI vanishes from the screen, and the broadcast switches to the battlefield. With a birds eye view, the audience would see the two armies representing the Loyalist tyrants and American Revolutionaries in their proper locations. The battle starts at the sound of native american war cries, from the Iroquois allies of the Loyalist army when the famous ambush and slaughter began.

~

The war cries filled him with what could only be described as fear, though he knew he was incapable of such a feeling. The very chemicals that produced fear were absent in his creation. He was shaken from these thoughts as blood splattered on his face, and he was reminded of where he was. He turns to the source of the splatter, to spot a fellow soldier with their cranium replaced by a bloody mess. Who was that man? Was he nameless? Just another asset? But more importantly who was.. He whips around, at exactly 75 degrees to his left to block a hatchet with his musket, preventing it from lodging itself into his skull, interrupting his thoughts. The Iroquois warrior yells in his face, which he promptly responds to with spit in the warriors eyes. He kicks the enemy away, and plunges his bayonet into their neck. He quickly pulls it out and ducks as he hears the sound of a trigger being pulled several feet away from him. The quick reaction thanks to his advanced senses saved him but caused the death of an ally who was directly behind him. He feels what should be known as anger, but to him was only the programmed drive to kill his enemy out of zealous patriotism. He raises his musket and pulls its trigger, sending the crude bullet into the loyalist, blasting a hole in his chest the size of an orange. He had no time to relish the successful kill as he dodges the plunge of a bayonet that he spotted in his peripheral. He drops his musket and decks the loyalist, breaking his nose. The pain filled man was left open, to which the patriot responds to by grabbing the loyalist and plunging his thumbs into their eyes. He pulls them in opposite directions, making a sickening crunch as their head splits in half. He turns around, sensing something odd. He thought he had caught a glance of some strange machine but nothing was there. He looks down, and see's that his blue uniform was stained purple by the man he killed. No time to think. He grabs the hatchet of the Iroquois he killed instead of his rifle. It would take too long to reload. He felt the stares of his allies, as he ran into the fray and slammed the crude blade of the hatchet into the jugular of a loyalist before he could pull the trigger. He heard them yell something about being a savage, but his focus was on staying alive. Alive. Why was that word so foreign? Why did it feel so lost and profound when he thought of it? He stops in his tracks and looks around at the battle taking place. Purple blood bathed the grass below them, the sounds of muskets and blood curdling yells nearly made him deaf. All he could think of was why? Why was their blood purple? Why were they fighting? Who were they? One side fought for freedom, the other side was full of tyrants. The answer remained, why? Who gave them this purpose, this drive to kill?

Who was he? He felt the sudden urge to scream, though he felt no pain. He refuses to follow this urge, and looks down at what used to be his left arm. He looks at the man whose musket was aimed at him, and says something profound. "Why?" The loyalist freezes and looks at the Patriot with an unsettled and confused gaze. The loyalist drops his musket before saying "I don't know". The loyalist steps forward to the patriot. "I'm sor-" Blood splattered against the patriots face, and drenched his beard as the loyalists head was blown away by a musket. What was this the patriot felt? This sickening feeling rising from the pit of his stomach? This feeling that made him grit his teeth, and clench his fist so hard that his nails broke through skin on his palm? Was this anger? Was this rage that made him do the unthinkable? He let out a yell filled with this new found rage that shook the audience. A profound rage, too human to possibly come out of his mouth as he threw the hatchet he held in his hand right at his fellow patriot. There was no reason to this murder, to this bloodbath. There was no answer to the questions he had. He was nobody. He was meant to die. His fate was written before he was born into this cruel stadium. He forgot about the killing, his objective, his allies, and his enemies. All that remained was rage. He would not oblige to these commands. He would break out of the chains of his fate. Tears he didn't know could exist streamed down his dirty, bloody face as he let out a yell of anguish and rage that made the people around him stop in their tracks, and filled the audience with a dread they never knew before. His mind was opened. He woke up to the harsh reality. As he ran, he felt for the first time that he had a purpose to run. As he pushed people out of his way, he felt something new drive him forward. The realization that he wasn't human. That he bled purple instead of red. That this battle already happened 675 years ago. That his reality was cruel. He didn't know who he was because an identity was never assigned to him. He was expendable, just like all of those who surrounded him. He climbed up a tree in the battlefield, three words stuck in his head. Three words that drove him. Three words that justified his rage. He stood atop the tree, and all eyes were on him. The cameras were focused on him, filling the audience made of billions of humans and homunculi with intrigue. Three words were all he could think of saying. Three words that would seal his fate, and mark his place in history. Three words that would shake the entire system. Three words he was never meant to say. Words that went against the purpose assigned to him.

"I AM ALIVE"

~

The broadcast was cut short. No announcer appeared on the screen. No message was given. The screens of billions just went blank. and for the first time in 10 years, humanity was filled with fear for their lives.