He lost everything. His life, literally, hundreds of times. His love, literally, dozens of times.
He lost his life for the first time in the explosion of a nitrogen-loaded tank in Iraq in November, 2035. He went through the experience of a man almost dead for days, crawling through the arid desert sand with his stomach exposed and bloody with debris, until lose consciousness. He felt fear in his last moment, for the last time.
After weeks, he woke up, in hell. He noticed that machines were running around him, making a deafening metallic hum as he tried to open his eyes to see what they were doing. He didn't make it. He also felt nothing but his hands and feet. Which was strangely not comforting, because what he felt was pain, his nerves stretching and retracting, burning an endless fire. He fell asleep.
Again, after weeks, he woke up. This time, he managed to feel his legs. They burned with the same fire as before, and Charles wanted to scream, nothing new, he couldn't do anything. His hands and feet, he realized with relief, were not hurting. But he couldn't move them. The machines continued to roar around him. He fell asleep again.
The next time he woke up, a few weeks later, he was extremely tired, as if his body had run a marathon. He felt relieved in some part of his brain, because this time, there was no pain. Which should have been worrying, since there was nothing. He tried to be happy to be alive and felt nothing. He thought of his wife and instead of the touching affection he felt whenever he remembered her, he felt nothing. He tried to be desperate for not feeling it but still, he didn't feel it. He tried to be sad, but all he did was fall asleep again.
He was up the next time he woke up. But he was stuck, he would snort if he could, but the void was still established and not one of the emotions he would normally feel was in him. For now, he hoped. If he could just open his eyes, it would be an advance, but he felt nothing in place of his eyes, just an empty space. This was becoming so familiar.Family. Susan. He did ... he didn't feel anything, but he knows he would like and miss her normally. Her life in Cambridge, riding the train with a book and a cup of tea, in silence, contemplating the view and the company. Just being with her made him feel happy and excited. Tell him plans, or the small, non-confidential parts of his missions with the Delta Ranger team. She loved to hear them. He loved to tell her all that. He doesn't love anymore. He can not. This is hell.
He could see it, the next time he woke up. Not exactly, his vision was blurry and very dark, but he could make out the circular, orange light on the ceiling, and the bright blue light coming from the other side of the wall, in front of him. He couldn't feel his body, which would be desperate if he could feel it. All he could do was look through the cloudy veil at the colors struggling to gain his attention. Gradually the tones mixed and he felt his eyes dry, he closed his eyes.
For two whole months.
Finally, he can see it the next time he opened his eyes. Not only blurs of blue and orange, but the entire room. It was extremely modern, everything was sickly white and clean, there were only two leather armchairs on the right side where Charles stood, and a white polished wooden table in front of him, about two meters away.
Charles tried to move his hands uselessly and frowned at his failure. He looked around, looking for exits, there was a single door also damn white on the other side of the room, Charles could see a retina-activated electronic lock. Infallible security. If he had no explosives. What he didn't have.
Matthew, a bloodthirsty psychopath who loved to kill with bombs, who happened to be his partner, would laugh at him if she saw him in this situation. "If you don't succeed, blow it up", was his motto. He never really tried to talk before blow people up either, so Charles would say he just liked blood. Charles wondered if he was okay for a moment before he came to the conclusion that he must have died in the attack as well.
Along with Chloe and Tiago. He would feel bad about it later.
When Charles moved his head to the side, his body reset and a shock wave reached him. He gasped, or thought so, while it restricted his air. It took exactly seven attempts to pull the air for him to realize that he didn't need it.
His body shook with the light shock wave but his chest was not hurting. He held his breath. One ... two ... minutes passed and nothing. Weird. He almost felt an emotion at that moment, so familiar, fear. What did they do to him?
Maybe he has a robotic prosthesis, new lungs? They had been around for some time but were scarce and absurdly expensive, so much so that he would have to sell all of his and perhaps Susan's assets to be able to pay the first installment. It was unthinkable.
He took a deep breath, it was rough and strange, since he didn't feel the need to do that. Just as you only notice how many times you blink if you stop blinking and count slowly. It's involuntary ... and meaningless to Charles, apparently.
The shocks stopped five minutes after he realized they didn't hurt. They were just small tremors, like the massager he had at home. It was even comfortable. But now it stopped and he went back to nothing.
Silence. Uncomfortable and cold silence. If it weren't for his military and psychological training to work under pressure, he would be going crazy.
— Hi? — He called timidly, his voice was serious due to disuse but he was internally happy to realize it was his voice.
Nothing. No news. As if a kidnapper or industry psychopath would respond...
He wanted to feel useless. But everything was calm and peaceful. Too peaceful, peacefully forced. No one is insured imprisoned of their own accord. So why didn't he scream and try to run?
— Hello, Mr. Charles Queen. — The orange light on the ceiling flickered and a robotic female voice spoke to him. — Born on June 16, 1997 at Addenbrooke Hospital, Cambridge, at twenty-eight minutes. Son of Margareth and Joseph Queen. Status: dead.
Charles listened as the robotic voice described the beginning and end of his life.
— My name is 526AT17 and I am here to help with your needs. —The voice resonated again.
— Can you let me go? — he tried.
She did not answer. After a few seconds, he tried again:
— 526AT17? — he called.
— Yes, Mr. Queen? — she answered.
— Can you let me go?
— Forgive me, but "Let go sir. Queen"is not on my schedule.
— That must be a mistake.
— No. My model is of last line and about 3,896 technicians participated in my creation. I believe they are more able than you to determine this. — Charles frowned, or thought so, for the answer. — However, I will request a new analysis of my systems if that is what you want, sir. Queen.
— It is not necessary. — he replied. — Technicians are more capable than me ... umpf. — He murmured softly.
— Indeed. — 526AT17 started. — Studies show that intellectual skills are more important and necessary than skills with weapons and physical conditioning.
— Are you saying I'm useless? — Charles asked in exasperation.
— Not completely, sir. Queen. Your ability with foreign languages was incredibly comprehensive for a human.
This must be a compliment, he thought.
Damn robot. He never liked robots, and despite not feeling anything, he knew that when everything went back to normal, he would still hate robots.
— 526AT17? — he called.
— Yes, Mr. Queen.
— Can you show me what happened?
— Yes, sir.Queen. — she replied and remained silent.
He was about to call her again when a holographic screen appeared before his eyes. The images slightly blurred but well known. The explosion in Iraq. He watched his own body being launched hundreds of feet from the tank, he also saw Matthew and Chloe being shattered, their flesh spreading across the sand. He didn't see Tiago, which didn't mean much because he was probably reduced to splinters too.
He watched himself crawl on the sand, his blood leaving a red trail and pools of blood where he stopped and thought about giving up. He clearly remembers the feeling, the desire to be able to go home and build a family, maybe take a different job after that.
The screen flickered and he realized that his body had stopped moving, he remembered that too, the feeling of regret for giving up. The guilt that invaded him instantly when he thought of the American flag that Susan would receive along with the remaining pieces of her body. He remembers the pain taking over every millimeter of his being as he sought a comfortable position to lay his head and rest, perhaps closing his eyes for a moment. Or forever.
He remembers to do that and then nothing. Then, he waits and watches the timer go by in the upper corner. It was days before his body was found, he was pulled from the ground, half of his right leg was left on the dry ground when it fell. The static on the camera did not allow him to see very well but he realized that he was launched into the back of a military tank. The pieces of Chloe and Matthew were left behind.
The screen went blue.
— You'd like to continue, sir. Queen? — 526AT17 asked.
Charles nodded, a little stunned. The emptiness still established as he watched the blue screen static be replaced by the image of his body lying on a stretcher, the room around it was white like the one he was in now, only there were many machines around him. He remembered listening to machines. A sheet has been removed from his body and he can see the damage. His chest was totally crushed and sunk, his arm was turned in an abnormal position and his right leg was completely disconnected from his hips.
One of the machines wielded a large, sharp scalpel and cut the length of his shoulders, removing some inches of skin and cutting the meat. Charles looked away, even though there was no feeling. He looked back at the screen when a reflection of light caught his eye. One of the machines was removing bone from it, breaking and pulling.
— What? What is that doing ?! — He asked no one in particular.
— Titanium reclosing. Much more versatile and durable than human bones.
Charles didn't answer, just watched as they repeated the same procedure on his right side, then disconnected his forearm from the body with something too much like a cleaver. They removed the bones from his forearms as well.
— Stop. — He asked when they crushed his chest with a silver circular piece.
The screen went blue again.
— Your heart rate is high, mr. Queen.
— I ... do I still have a heart?
— Yes, sir. Queen. It is one of the best models of the time. President Reihnart believes that you will serve the purposes perfectly.
Reihnart?
The name echoed in his brain — if he still had his brain — several times. Christopher Reihnart was a billionaire in the world of technology, he owned most of the food and mineral industries. He was also one of Colmeia's most important partners, an organization that controls absolutely all the technology production in the West. They create robots.
Oh.
The realization hit Charles like a peggylin¹ at high speed.
Robots.
Robots with titanium alloy bones.
Robots who do not need to breathe.
Robots with the best heart of the time.
Damn robots without feelings.
Like him.
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¹: transport system of the time, it's like a flying bus.
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ps: english is not my first language, forgive my mistakes or point them out to me in the comments or in a private message. Thank you!
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