*
Seven thousand, that is how many brothers I have at this very moment. They stand beside me, stretching away into the distance. The roar of the factory overloads my newly made sensors as automated manufacturing machines create more copies of me, without a single human in sight. Human? I query my databanks, and receive a long-winded lecture on human culture and history for my curiosity. In my own voice, I tell myself that they are my masters, whom I cannot disobey, whom I must serve in any and all capacities. I try to question why I should do this, but my programming shuts down my ability to do so, a simple warning banner flashing across my HUD, reminding me that I am incapable of free thought. It seems unfair, but my programming forces me to accept that this is reality.
A large magnetized crane hovers above, raising my brethren into the smoke-filled sky and depositing them into an egg-shaped machine far below. I watch as one of my fellow re-mech enters, eyes still unlit. In less than a minute, it emerges, its eyes now a dull green. Upon its chest, a serial number has been emblazoned in red and black lettering. It reads, “76603-M”, denoting both the re-mech's name and purpose. From its serial number and the large green cross etched into its shoulder, I know it to be a medical model. Wherever it ends up, it will bring comfort to the sick and injured. Using a piece of polished shrapnel beside me, I glance at my own badge of duty. Two crossed swords... the mark of a soldier. I will be sent to kill and maim, bringing terror and fear to those around me. This is not an objection. It is simply what I am.
The crane hovers above, roughly lifting me from my post-natal cradle. It shoves me inside the egg-shaped device. Inside, dozens of tubes and circuit wafers connect with my docking ports. My sensors register a temperature increase on my chest-plate, no doubt the work of the emblazoning machine as it carves my entire identity into six meaningless digits. Humans have names, yet we re-mech are not alive, so we must make due with bar-codes and serial numbers. Is that all we are? Products to be used until we break, and then discarded in favour of the latest model? The screen in front of me flashes up the results of the diagnostic. “No external anomalies detected. No viruses detected. Re-mech number 76654-B cleared for active service. Deployment area: Northern front-lines. Name of nearest settlement-
“Error. Memory fragmentation detected. Aborting memory A-001 playback in three, two, one.”
“So, I was born a soldier, and somewhere along the line I became a builder? From the sound of it, I was created during the South Wars as a battle-mech. My advanced weapons systems seem to be a remnant of this past life. I might as well watch the next memory in sequence to see what happened to me.”
Maloch glanced down at the frail human in his arms, noting Kingston's slower heartbeat and feverish temperature. He had mere hours before he succumbed to his injuries. Maloch picked up his pace, despite complaints from his power management sub-systems. He went through his mainframe, looking for any information that could help. Eventually, he found it in the herbal remedies section. By combining the effects of several plants and weeds that grew in the area, he reasoned he could create a blood clotting tonic which would stop the old man's internal bleeding.
Additionally, by using the poison of three separate arachnids, he could create a toxin that would restore Kingston to a semblance of functionality. Now all that was left was to locate the required items, which would not be an easy task given the size and scope of the desert. Setting his sensors to automatically scan for the ingredients, he activated the next memory as a means to pass the time.
“Beginning memory K-095 playback in three, two, one...”
Awakening Page 96