Second Chapter link is at the bottom of the post.
“....for a soldier to survive on the new atomic battlefield, his body will have to be changed, reinforced. Fragile organs will be replaced by hardier mechanisms of plastic and metal; the bones and muscles substituted by alloys and servos. It may even come to the point where the whole body is replaced, with only the brain, a soldiers most important organ, retained....”
Prof. Franz Hoffenheimer, A Warrior for the Atomic Age, 1956
The atmosphere was positively electric. Thousands had packed in under the Richmond dome, a veritable sea of humanity; The rich rubbed shoulders with the poor, baselines with cyborgs. Outside they belonged to different worlds, but here, here they were united in one goal, one desire.
To glimpse the pinnacle of perfection.
HE knew HE shouldn't let HIMself get caught up. HE should have been above it; it was programmed into every cell in HIS body, every fibre, every neuron. But HE couldn't help himself. Here HE was just part of the crowd, just another drop in the ocean. HE let the mood wash over him, revelled in it, revelled in HIS excitement.
And then, they appeared.
One after the other. Men. Perfect men, in form and function. HE marvelled at their beauty, their grace, their....efficiency. Each was at the peak of the human condition, a perfect balance of strength, speed, agility. And best of all, not a single one was tainted by the falsehood of cybernetics. What HE saw before him was the result thousands of hours of hard work, concentration, scientific nutrition and good genetics.
The crowd rippled and roared in wonder as each contestant took his place. They cheered at each leap, each raised weight, each punch. It was exciting, to see such beauty at work, to observe such wonders of nature, perfected by the hands of man. But HE had to be strong. HE had to be patient. For although these men were perfect,some were more PERFECT than others.
No, their was one HE was waiting for, one whom HE had come for. One whom HE craved.
And their he was.
Anders Paulson, perfection in human form. Man as god intended.
HE was almost awestruck. HE watched intently as Anders did his routine, feeling his body begin to shake with almost unbridled excitement at each twist, each turn. It was better than HE expected; it was poetry in motion. They way each muscle flowed into the other, the symmetry of his form. And his arms, oh, his arms; Strong, fluid, POWERFUL, they were beautiful, not arms of a mere mortal, but arms of a go......
No.
NO.
NO NO NO NO!
HE gasped in horror, gritting his teeth. NOT PERFECT. FLAWED. HE felt faint. THE LEFT ARM. FLAWED. HE had to hold back the howl that wanted to escape his lips. The illusion was shattered; this was no perfect man, no true Adonis, just another FLAWED bag of muscle and bone.
GET A GRIP SOLDIER.
The signal was strong; it rang in his head clear as bell. The MISSION, the MISSION had to go on. HE slowed his breathing, regaining control.
The left arm was FLAWED.
But the right, the right was still PERFECTION.
Not all was lost. Something could still be salvaged.
Time passed. The show ended, and the crowed, after a time, filed out. Eventually, a silence filled the dome, the only sounds coming from the cleaners who now picked through the detritus left behind.
HE did not make noise. HE was a ghost, invisible to all. HE slipped through the darkened corridors, through the maze of service tunnels and walkways. HE slipped from shadow to shadow, unseen, unheard. Until HE reached his destination.
HE stood before the door, trembling with excitement. Slowly, almost as if HE was shy, HE extended HIS arm, and gave the door a light rap.
“What?” came the annoyed reply.
Their was a clack, and the door swung inward. And their he was.
Anders Paulson looked up in confusion. “Who the hell are you?”
“Mr. Paulson,” HE began, hardly containing his excitement. “I just wanted to say, I am a huge fan of yours. You are the closet to perfection any man has reached.”
Anders smirked, then rolled his eyes. Another wacko fan. “Look, thanks, but in case you don't know, this areas private; no public allowed. Now get outta here before I call security.” He went to shut the door.
HE shot out his arm, holding the door in place. “Please, Mr. Paulson, I just wanted to express my respect for such a hard working man as yourself.” he was trembling now; it was time. “Its too bad about you left arm; but I guess you all have FLAWS.”
Anders looked at HIM, his annoyance turning to anger. “Hey, jack, what did I just say? Get the fu...”
Their was a sound, a swoosh, and then the sound of something hitting the ground. Anders froze, confused, then tilted his head slightly, observing the stump where his right arm had once been.
His body couldn't handle it; it had been so fast, HE had been so fast, that the mind just couldn’t handle it. He tried to scream, but nothing came out; Anders body just locked up in shock and fell backwards into the room. He would never get back up.
HE almost couldn't take it anymore. It was time. HE pulled up HIS right sleeve, and watched the shroud split apart, revealing HIS now obsolete right arm. On command, the useless mass slipped from its socket, and fell to the floor with a wet “plop”
Stepping over the discarded part, HE grasped Anders arm, feeling the remnant electric impulses bouncing through it, and jammed it into the empty socket.
HIS body accepted it greedily, tendrils sliding into nerves and veins, and with a victorious finality the shroud closed up over it, stretching to accept the new appendage.
HE could feel it, feel stronger. As each muscle fibre was attached to HIS own, HE felt assure that he had grown more powerful, more efficient.
But it was not PERFECT.
HE noted with annoyance that his new arm unbalanced him slightly, not much, but enough. HIS overall efficiency only increased by 15%; HE would have to rectify that situation soon.
No one saw HIM leave. No one ever saw HIM at all. It would not be until early the next morning that Anders body would be found, and by that point, HE was long gone.
Leaving only HIS useless arm behind.
Second Chapter: @tsudohnimh/red-doll-zlata-mikhaylov