skonen_blades

And where do things begin and end? I can’t tell where most friendships started or the precise point where love relationships ended. I remember the first meeting sometimes, I remember the last fight. But the beginning and end were sown sometime before the actual beginning and the actual end. That applies to the creation of life. That applies to the creation of the universe.

We tend to see our personal emotions as separate from physics. I posit to you that they aren’t; that there is a remarkable similarity not only to massive and the microscopic, but also to the ebb and flow of affection and hate between. Pairs and circles, spirals and comets. Inner worlds and outer forces. I am convinced that science will leave it out and that is why they will never discover a universal field equation.

All of us were dreamed into being. Much like the universe. There was no big bang. There was a growth like mold. There was a growth a person catching your interest. There was an inflation like a balloon that is still taking place. There was an inflation like the similar interests you have and the knowledge that you are connected and like-minded.

I’m not saying that planets have feelings and that suns feel regret. I’m not saying that the universe is a caring organism. I’m only saying that similar rules apply. If time is the x, and space is the y, then we are the z, giving it depth merely by observing, even if it’s only to ourselves. Seeing it and trying to interpret it changes the universe whether it knows it or not.



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It’s the sharp edges of waking up that I remember first. I was still in the harness.

I couldn’t breathe.

At first I panicked. I tested the strength of the straps that held me by thrashing around, contorting as I struggled to draw breath.

I did that for six minutes before I realized that I wasn’t suffocating. I had no tunnel vision and I wasn’t passing out.

I stopped moving. I had to fight the occasional bout of stress when my animal hindbrain realized that I wasn’t breathing but the episodes got further and further apart until they disappeared altogether.

It took me almost seven minutes to realize that I couldn’t feel a heartbeat in my chest, either.

Bits and pieces of the experiment came back to me then. Bright slivers of memory minnowed through my conciousness.

I remembered a lot of pain as they carved into my body. I remembered that my body had been juiced up with so many invented biochemical compounds that my muscles looked like they were sculpted from marble and assembled.

Biosteel had been woven into my tendons at conception.

I had three parents: a mother, a father, and a government-sponsored experiment directive.

I was raised in labs, educated by geniuses and trained in combat. When I was fully grown, it was decided that I should undergo Phase Two.

I was nineteen.

That was a week ago.

Sensing that I was growing accustomed to my new body housing, the straps loosened around my arms and legs. I lay there, getting ready to start the next part of my life as a weapon for my country.

I raised a hand up in front of my eyes.

The red, scalloped ridges on my black fingers flexed with metallic talons. I couldn’t grasp the concept that it was my new skin. I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking that I was merely wearing gloves.

I wished I could still breathe. I was going to need to take a psychological deep breath before sitting up.

I remember the specs for this new body clearly but that was a whole different experience compared to actually living inside of it.

My name was Shin. I was a prototype Soldier One of China’s new army.


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