Blade of truth

The first thing I noticed as I woke was the cold. It seeped into my very being, a chill that was both physical and deeply, disturbingly emotional. My body felt alien, like I didn't fully inhabit it anymore. The room around me was sterile and sharp, the walls a pristine white, glowing faintly under the hum of fluorescent lights. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung my nostrils, a reminder of the place I had been remade.

I blinked slowly, and as my vision adjusted, my gaze caught the faint glint of my hand. It wasn't my hand anymore. The smooth surface of Solarium alloy replaced skin and bone, the cold, polished metal reflecting the harsh light like a mirror. My fingers moved with eerie precision, their dexterity uncomfortably perfect. My breath caught—though even that felt muted, as if the air I took in no longer truly sustained me.

Rising from the table was harder than I anticipated. My body, though stronger, was heavier, the weight of the armor integrated into my frame unfamiliar. The muted gold and sleek black plating hugged my figure with a precision that would've been awe-inspiring had it not felt so… wrong. The armor was seamless, segmented to allow flexibility while maintaining an aura of invincibility. The way it gleamed under the lights almost made it beautiful, but beauty didn't matter to me. To me, it was a cage—a gilded one, but a cage nonetheless.

I turned to the polished silver door at the far end of the room. As I approached it, the echo of my footsteps reverberated through the space. Each step clanged with a hollow, metallic note, a cruel reminder of what I had become. I stopped just short of the door, catching sight of my reflection.

The face staring back at me was mine, but the rest was someone—no, something—else. My eyes, once vibrant with shades of amber, seemed dulled, clouded by the weight of everything I had endured. My long, dark hair fell in waves around my face, contrasting starkly with the sharp lines and cool glow of the armor. My lips trembled as I stared, the soft warmth of my humanity overshadowed by the imposing metal encasing me.

I reached up and touched my chest plate, the cold, smooth surface sending a shiver through me. The center of the armor bore an insignia—a sharp, angular sigil etched in silver. It symbolized the organization I had been created for, a constant reminder of the life I couldn't escape. My sword, now sleek and curved, rested on my back, a part of me both literally and figuratively. Its hilt extended just above my shoulder, as if daring me to draw it and continue the cycle of violence I was trapped in.

I felt bile rise in my throat as I whispered to myself, "Even my reflection isn't mine anymore."

The sound of muffled voices caught my attention. From the adjoining lab, two scientists spoke in hushed tones, unaware that I was listening.

"She's flawless," one of them said, awe dripping from his voice. "The integration of Solarium alloy into her skeletal structure is seamless."

"Her power output is off the charts," the other responded. "She's everything we hoped for and more."

They spoke of me like I was a product, something they had forged from scratch. Not someone—something. My stomach churned as I pressed my hand against the cool doorframe, needing its support.

"Do you think she knows?" the first voice asked, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Knows what?"

"That she's not just a soldier anymore. She's a weapon. The perfect weapon."

I turned away, unable to listen any longer. Their words rang in my ears, hollow and cruel. A weapon. A tool. That was all they saw in me. My hands clenched into fists, the servos in my fingers whining softly from the pressure.

The door hissed open behind me, and I turned to see him—Father. His towering form was silhouetted by the bright corridor lights, his imposing figure draped in a long, dark coat. His face, as always, was obscured by the mask he wore—a sleek, expressionless visage of black metal, with faint, glowing lines that pulsed like veins across its surface. The mask's design was cold and efficient, just like him.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and steady, devoid of emotion. "Good. We have work to do."

I stared at him, anger simmering beneath my surface. "Work?" I asked, my voice sharp. "Is that what this is to you? Just work?"

Father stepped closer, his boots clicking against the metal floor. His presence was suffocating, his gaze—though hidden behind the mask—felt as though it pierced straight through me.

"You were made for this, Kaida," he said, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever. "Every step of your life has led to this moment. You are stronger now, more capable than ever before. Perfect."

There was that word again. Perfect. I hated it.

"Perfect?" I echoed, bitterness dripping from my voice. "You've stripped away everything I was. My body, my team, my humanity. And for what? To make me your puppet?"

Father tilted his head slightly, as if considering my words. "You misunderstand," he said. "This isn't about me. It's about the greater good. You're more than what you were before. You'll achieve things no one else can."

I laughed bitterly. "Spare me the propaganda. I'm not your weapon. Not anymore."

His silence was heavy, filled with an unspoken challenge. Finally, he turned and began walking down the corridor. "Follow me," he ordered.

I hesitated, my anger burning hot in my chest, but I followed. The sound of our steps echoed in the sterile halls, his slow and deliberate, mine heavy with the weight of my new form.

As we approached the hangar, I broke the silence. "Who are you?"

Father stopped and turned to face me. The faint glow of his mask cast shadows across his face, making him look almost inhuman. "I am Father," he said simply.

"No," I said, my voice firm. "I want your real name."

He paused, as if weighing his answer. "Names are given," he said at last. "This is the name I was given. And this is who I am."

His cryptic response only left me with more questions. Who had given him that name? And why?

We reached the ship, its sleek black frame gleaming under the hangar lights. Father stopped at the base of the ramp and gestured toward it. "Your next mission awaits," he said.

I turned to him, my anger bubbling over. "Why do you do this? Why do you care so little about what you've taken from me?"

Father's voice softened, just slightly. "Because I see in you what I once was. And I won't let you make the same mistakes."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

As I boarded the ship, the faint hum of the engines filled the silence. I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword, its cold metal grounding me. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

I stared out into the stars as the ship launched, my reflection flickering in the glass. This wasn't who I was supposed to be. But it was who I had become. For now.