The scepter bent like rubber as they brawled in a storm of tiny punches, kicks, and anime sound effects.
"YOU PEACE LOVING SIMP!"
"YOU SATANIC TAMPON!"
"THAT'S IT! I'M CASTING H*LY SMITE!"
"I'M CASTING SHUT THE F*CK UP!"
They rolled off my shoulders mid swing and fell into the void, still punching each other like hyperactive chihuahuas hopped up on caffeine and unresolved grudges.
I just stood there. Blinking. Still surrounded by versions of myself trying to kill or traumatize each other, while my angelic and demonic projections turned my shoulder space into a WWE ring.
I dragged a hand down my face.
"…f*ck me maybe I am insane after all."
I stood there bare-assed and broken surrounded by an all out psychological cage match between every cracked, hormonal, and traumatized version of myself, while a tiny demon and angel continued to suplex each other into mental furniture like caffeinated ferrets.
And then. Light. A sudden, blinding beam of it. No warning. No build up.
It was like the sun booted the door down, flooding my mental void and illuminating everything with aggressive clarity.
I blinked against the glow, shielding my eyes.
"Oh. I guess it's my cue to go, huh?"
I muttered dryly, squinting into the brilliance.
The memory mess around me began to fracture and fade angel, demon, child, teen, and soldier all slowly dissolving into strands of code and echo.
My view began to pull back. Reality sharpening. Pain blooming. Then I saw it, I was floating. Suspended in a cylinder of thick glowing fluid, weightless and twitching slightly.
What the actual. Then it hit. A gag reflex that nearly exploded through my spine.
"GGRK...MMGHH...!"
I reached up and grabbed whatever the hell was lodged in my mouth a thick, ribbed breathing hose snaking down my throat like some unh*ly alien tentacle.
I didn't think. I ripped it out.
SHHLRRRRRRK... GRAAACK...
The pop as it came free made my ears ring. A flood of thick fluid spilled from my mouth and down my chin.
I gasped only to choke on what ever liquid I was submerged In. While beyond the tank, beyond the haze shadows moved.
Figures. Something, drones? Machines? No they seemed humanoid, skittering to life, reacting to my reawakening.
WHIRRRR... CLANK...TSSHHH...
Warning lights flashed around the rim of the tank. The once luminous fluid began to drain, spiraling down around my ankles, calves, waist.
Mechanical clamps disengaged. The hiss of pressure valves releasing. I could feel it. The cold. The tremor of new muscles waking up.
My vision was still fogged, but one thing was clear: This body wasn't the same as before.
Every nerve thrummed like it had been rewired with thunder. Every inhale felt like I was breathing life for the very first time.
The weight of my muscles, the perfect precision in my hands, the cool calm coursing through my bloodstream.
This wasn't just a body. This was a weapon.
As the nutrient liquid spiraled down and the pod hissed like some ancient beast unlatching its jaw, I stepped forward, dripping, powerful, reborn.
Only to be immediately pulled out of my power fantasy as someone roared.
"ATTENTION!"
The word sliced through the air like a whip. And like muscle memory forged in the pits of hell, I snapped into it.
Back straight. Heels locked. Fists pressed against my thighs. Chin raised. Eyes forward.
Like I was back on the parade ground getting screamed at by a sergeant whose breath could melt paint. And then I heard that Infernal laughter.
"Pffft... HA! Hahaha! I can't... PFFFT... this is f*cking hilarious!"
The voice cracked the silence like a sledgehammer to the teeth. I blinked.nSlowly, very slowly, I turned my head toward the source of the cackling.
And there she was. Invicta. Hair tied into a messy bun, with strands loose and wild like a mad scientist who got lost halfway through a fashion show.
She was dressed in a tight black tank top, a short tactical skirt, thigh high stockings, and military grade, knee length paramilitary boots that looked like they could kick down a tank's soul.
And she was clutching her bare stomach, doubled over in laughter, artificial tears in her eyes.
Behind her, several medical personnel in lab coats stood rigidly.
All equally expressionless, like emotion had been surgically removed.
And flanking the door stood two soldiers in full body tactical armor, colored black with visors so equally dark you couldn't see an inch of their faces.
Each held a laser rifle at ease, standing as still as statues, completely unfazed by the scene. Invicta wheezed between laughs.
"Oh my g*ds, that was even better than I imagined! You actually snapped to attention! I thought that military conditioning would've faded by now..."
She snorted again.
"But noooope! It's still baked into your augmented neurons!"
I stood there, n*ked as the day I was vat born for the second time, dripping nutrient gel, feeling very much like a confused super soldier struggling between shame, rage, and wanting to find the nearest towel.
"You..."
I muttered, jaw tightening.
"What?"
She said innocently, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand.
"You did that on purpose."
"Oh, absolutely."
Her grin was a weapon in its own right.
"And I regret nothing."
The medical personnel remained silent. The soldiers didn't even twitch. And me? I stood there, still at attention, wondering if it was too late to crawl back into the tank.
"Alright, alright, no need to look so gloomy."
Invicta waved a hand like she hadn't just ambushed my dignity at point blank range.
"Here, put it on."
A soft hum drew my attention skyward as a drone hovered into view, sleek and silent. Its underbelly slid open, and a neatly folded set of pitch black gear descended, landing with a satisfying fwump into my outstretched hands.
One piece uniform. Full tactical cut. Matte black. My brows rose despite myself.
"You tailored me clothes? Romantic,"
I muttered under my breath.
"Damn right I did,"
She replied smugly.
"If I'm rebuilding you into the sexiest weapon this side of the void, you better look the part."
Without wasting another second, I tossed on the black boxers, stepping cleanly out of the last remnants of nutrient gel that clung to my skin like guilt to a priest.
Then I stepped into the uniform legs, tugging them up with a practiced motion.
The fabric clung to me like it had been grown on my body, zero slack, zero tightness, just pure tailored precision.
It was soft inside, armored where needed, light as a whisper but clearly tougher than military grade composites.
Next came the short-sleeved black T-shirt, which slid over my torso like a second skin, highlighting every inch of ripped muscle I didn't have a year ago.
I zipped up the pants to my waist, then grabbed the combat boots, heavy and reinforced. I slid into them and zipped them directly into the lower cuffs of the uniform. Not a single break in coverage.
Next came the tactical belt, multiple slots for mags, tools, maybe even energy cells, snapped snug around my hips.
Finally, I pulled on the tactical gloves, pitch black like the rest, then zipped them into the uniform sleeves, completing the full body seal.
As I stood up straight and flexed my hands… I couldn't help but feel it: Power. Readiness. Precision. Every movement was seamless.
Like I was born in this. Like this body, this uniform… this life… was always meant to be mine. Invicta gave a low whistle, eyeing me top to bottom.
"See? Perfect fit."
The med techs said nothing, but one of them definitely blinked harder than normal. The soldiers at the door didn't flinch.
"Damn right it is,"
I muttered, adjusting my belt once. Then I looked at her.
"So…"
I exhaled slowly.
"Now what?"
Her grin widened again, mischievous and promising.
"Now?"
She turned and motioned toward the sealed steel doors.
"Ill show you what Ive been up to for the last year."
The sealed doors hissed open, revealing a corridor so pristine it gleamed walls a perfect blend of brushed steel and black alloy, glowing lines tracing the power veins of the great beast that was this ship.
Gone was the rust, the decay, the echo of age.
This place felt alive, polished to surgical standards, every panel aligned, every fixture humming with precision.
Engineers and technicians moved in tight, efficient groups. Each carried tools of war and maintenance, holo pads streaming live metrics, or crates of components.
No one spoke unnecessarily. There was no time for chatter here, only production, calibration, and deployment.
Every few meters, access hatches opened, allowing drones to flit in and out, running diagnostics, resealing conduits, rotating power cells.
The corridor was a bloodstream, pumping technicians and machines through a metallic artery of war.
Invicta walked ahead of me, hands resting on her dangeruosly seductively moving left and right backside, bun swaying lightly with her steps, like she was on a casual stroll instead of a tour of a f*cking military industrial resurrection.