For the Sake of Progression

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For the Sake of Progression

Post by Zephir on Wed Jul 22, 2015 12:09 am

“It’s kind of weird that you don’t have a last name, Zephir. It kind of feels... extremely unformal being as your my mentor and all.” The man next to Zephir took a swig of whiskey and let out a course sigh of content. He was a younger recruit, apparently not learned in the English language due to his use of ‘unformal.’

Blue-hazel eyes turned to view the man, who was in all-honesty the same age as him, but still his younger. He was amused for once, the alcohol disarming his trigger, taking the edge off. He ran a hand through the top of his dark brown mess of a high-regulation cut. “I do. Just turns out that when you’re abducted at the age of six, forced into a physiological and psychological regiment meant for special forces all while speeding through puberty, you tend to... Misplace it underneath all that, Daniels.” Zephir took a long draw of his own bottle of whiskey.

“... Shit man, are you for serious?” Daniels rubbed his blond crew cut, not really sure how he was supposed to reply to something like that, his slate-blue eyes wide.

Zephir laughed for a moment, leaning back as he stared out upon the gleaming Capital city from their eighteen-story perch. He enjoyed the breeze that whipped around his body, his arms bare, he wore simply a tactical no-sleeve shirt that was grey and even darker grey cargo pants with orange trim, the cool current of the wind made him feel more alive than usual. His younger friend seemed to relax, shaking it off for a joke.

Finally he replied, as he watched his feet, clothed in his old combat boots dangling over the edge. “Yes. Indeed. I am ‘for serious.’ It really is an experience that causes you to forget things that used to be so important to you at the time. Your last name.... Your dog’s name.... The faces of your parents and their voices....” He took another draw on his alcohol, hissing out a breath and continuing.

“Really puts things into perspective at the age of six when that used to be your world. Turns out that the world is all about ‘progression.’ The advancement of mankind in the big-ol’ galaxy. Stealing kids out of their homes, growing them fast with artificial hormones, training them to be steely soldiers. At the age of 12, they are men and women, ready to serve. That’s all we knew really.” He paused for a moment, chuckling as if he pitied his lesser self for not knowing more.

“It wasn’t enough for them. They injected us with [SPR,] trying to win the genetic lottery of the perfect super soldier. Those who didn’t show promise were injected thrice, so many didn’t win... But I guess I did. They were impressed, I was one of few... Enhanced muscular growth was the first, then the reflexes that took the awkwardness of growing a couple of feet in a couple of years away. They actually were afraid to inject again since the first two mutations were so good.

“Now their work was to figure out how to combat the side-effects. And for several years they worked me into the template they wanted for an army of clones. They tested me non-stop, broke me several times and then stitched me back together. That was my life, that was all it was gonna be. A template for something greater, for the sake of ‘progression!’” He stopped after mocking some unknown quote from an unknown face, to stretch, yawn and drink. Maybe he could actually sleep tonight, it had been 31 hours at this point, the thought made him smile.

“Well, then I learned there was more to the world, the Rebellion sprung me from that cage and into this big wide world.” He paused for a moment opening his arms wide to the sky as he breathed in the air circling around them, a feeling of elation settling in, “The world is truly about progression, you know. Just hopefully the progression away from stealing kids from their parents and making them super-soldier templates for whatever reasoning. A progression to a better, safer future, free of corruption. That’s what my rebellion’s about.”

“Ah.” Daniels muttered not even partially sure how to respond, staring down at his whiskey before taking a long draw. He looked out upon the expanse of buildings that surrounded them, a gleaming city under the constant darkness and felt so small. After what felt like eons, he cleared his throat and stared at Zephir, whose face seemed to serene and exhausted at the same time. “That’s what /our/ Rebellion is about.” He finally said.

“Now you’re getting it, son!” Zephir let out a short, bark-like laugh before patting him somewhat roughly on the shoulder as he grinned and drained the last of his whiskey. The swimming sensation of the alcohol, his sense of heightened elation, of being on fire and alive would soon be gone, but he would remember the feeling.
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Zephir


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