In the underground facility,
Claw was hooked up to a reclining chair in the white room. The blood splatters had been wiped clean, but he knew there was about to be a fresh stain– one that would belong to him. He looked at the glass and yelled, even though he couldn't see the Councilman or other scientists, "What if this doesn't work?!"
"It will." The Councilman's voice echoed in the white room. "You're merely one of many. We've had smooth progress so far."
Claw grit his teeth, trying to think of various excuses to delay the inevitable. The gory sight he had seen earlier traumatised him greatly. Even for a mentally ill patient, the pain had been so intolerable that she tried to uproot her own head.
"Initiating…" Claw heard the voice once more and the whirring of the rapidly descending machine.
"Argh, I'll kill you for this!" He yelled, trying to break free from the chair.
The helmet met no resistance and fit around his head. Then, with a fearful heart, Claw counted down.
In the next instant, a nausea-Inducing pain struck the back of his head, sending goosebumps of horror throughout his body. He heard a loud grinding mechanism and could feel his flesh tearing apart.
"Arghh!" His yell filled the entire room as he shook violently.
Blood trickled down his forehead and dripped onto the white tiles. Claw began to feel a wave of dizziness. His entire body had been bound tightly to the chair, so he could only resist to a degree.
Soon, his eyes began to cloud over and the scent of blood bombarded his senses.
In less than a few seconds, he was out cold, his body convulsing on the chair.
…
Claw's eyes snapped open. Or, what felt like his eyes. He tilted his head and looked around. He was in a different room, one with various robotic suits hung to the ceiling.
He didn't feel dizzy, like he thought he would. He lowered his head and looked at his hands. Instead of the familiar skin and fingers, he saw a sleek, black suit that seemed to be made from carbon fibre.
He could also hear the whirring sound of various machines. Finally processing what his "eyes" saw, Claw watched various little robots crawl over his "body" and fix numerous parts unto him.
It worked? My consciousness has been ejected? He had a fleeting thought as he watched one of the little robots bolt a wrist plate on his arm.
"Quite amazing, isn't it." Someone spoke from behind him, a masculine voice.
Claw struggled to turn around.
The voice chuckled and said, "It'll take a few hours before your mind completely connects with your new body.
The voice then walked forward and stood in a position where Claw could see him. It was a 2 metre tall cyborg entity. It was of a pitch black colour, and had a visor that burned with a fiery red hue.
Claw wanted to speak, but found himself unable to. The voice chuckled again and said, "Give it time. Soon, you'll be able to move and talk perfectly."
Then, the cyborg-looking entity introduced, "I'm Bastion. My Inceptor codename. I'll be your captain, Claw. Looking forward to heading to hell with you."
If Claw had his body and face, he would've been wearing a complicated look at that moment.
However, all he could do was wait patiently.
…
Overseer Military Camp,
Adam White, Arthur Azrael, Aaron Blackwell, Victor Bolakale and Arden Jhumpa stood in a large indoor training space, garbed in their training outfit– a black turtle neck made from spandex and blue-patterned khaki pants.
On one section of the wall, there was a mini armoury with all sorts of cybernetic weapons. Staff with embedded energy blasts, swords that could cause shockwaves, and rifles that bore fine blue lines.
In front of the five stood Marshal Mathew Bates. He wore his usual trench coat, hat and brown pants. His hands were tucked into his coat pocket as he spoke, "Since you all have had professional training, we'll skip over the basics."
"I'll have you spar against each other in 3 different modes. One, regular hand to hand. Two, you'll pick a close range weapon and try to incapacitate your opponent in the shortest time possible. As for the third mode, you'll be allowed to incorporate your abilities into the bout."
"There will be other training routines such as stamina enhancement, learning to efficiently use all Neon guns, etcetera. Any questions?"
Azrael raised his hand.
"You may speak." The Marshal nodded.
The oldest of the five cleared his throat and said in a clear, confident voice, "Sir, there's five of us."
"I'm aware." Marshal Mathew Bates nodded. He looked at Adam and said, "He'll be sparring with me. More like, we'll make efforts to gauge his limit."
The others were confused, as they knew Adam's ability to be phasing through solid surfaces. What limit was the Marshal trying to gauge? However, they remained silent and didn't voice their doubts.
"Now that we have that cleared, Victor Bolakale, Arthur Azrael… step forward."
The brown-skinned teen, along with the youth that exuded confidence, stepped into the middle of the vast training space. The rest took a step back and looked ahead, wondering how the first round would turn out.
Though all of them–with the exemption of Adam–had been part of the rookie Overseer regiment, they had belonged to different squads. So, they had never really seen what the other was capable of, in terms of raw skill and battle IQ.
There was a few seconds of silence as both parties fixed their eyes on one another.
Marshal Mathew Bates gave a few rules, "You win by either slamming the opponent's back to the ground, completely knocking him out, or have him throw the towel. Since you have regenerative capabilities, you shouldn't worry too much about holding back."
"Are both sides ready?"
"Yes sir!" The boys chorused in equally confident tones.
Then, the Marshal raised his hand and said calmly, "Begin."
Sparing not a single second, the brown-skinned lad dashed forward, closing the gap and thrusting his arm forward for a right hook.
Azrael had seen this coming from a few seconds back. He pulled his head backwards, evading the blow by a hair's breadth. Then, he shifted his stance, strengthing his foot against the floor, and retaliated with a shoulder barge forward.
He was bigger than Victor and his goal was obvious– using sheer power to knock the other's back to the ground!