My shinies!!

You don't resist as your assigned handler beats you with a ferocity so far unmatched. She wails on you, punches you, kicks you when you finally fall to the ground. You don't shield your face, and she lands a kick directly to your nose. It hurts. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as not being good enough.

All your life, you've been in this facility. You weren't even allowed to leave the premises, with limited outside time. All your life, you've been in and out of operating rooms, your handler wanting to enhance your performance with body-modifications. Your metal arm with a blade embedded in it that you can pop out on command probably wouldn't be enough to defend you from your handler's wrath.

And so you just lie there and take it. And take it. And take it.

You might die.

Dying would be preferable to not being good enough.

Your handler is talking, but your ears are ringing so loud you can't make out the words. She grabs you by the collar of your uniform and pulls you up so you're kneeling, but it's hard to keep your balance. Blood is dripping from your nose onto the floor below. Your eyes are nearly swollen shut.

"...failing to meet expectations..."

"...useless, absolutely useless..."

"...waste of money and resources..."

You take the verbal abuse just as well as the physical one. You don't protest, you don't try to plead your case. You just take it. And take it. And take it.

Eventually, she grabs you by the shirt again and drags you to your feet. You stumble after her as she makes her way through the winding corridors of the facility you've called home your entire life. Some other weapons look. Some turn away. No one steps in.

Eventually, the two of you arrive at the front door. You haven't been out of the building in decades, not counting the inner yard. All your life, your handler primed you to think of the outside world as alien and scary, a world you'd only ever need to infiltrate and take out targets in. You didn't belong in the outside world.

And yet, she opens the door and shoves you outside. The door closes behind you with a loud bang. You collapse on the doorstep.

Surely, this is just a punishment. Part of it. You'll be let back in once you learned your lesson. Right?

You spend the day lying on the facility's doorstep, trying to keep tears at bay. A good weapon is emotionless, strong, resilient. Surely, this is a test. And you are not going to fail.

At sunset, the door finally opens again. It's not your handler; it's a man, no kinder than her. He barks at you for having stayed by the door, orders you to go.

But go where? You have nowhere to go.

"Please," you try, but he shuts you down immediately.

"You're not part of this organisation anymore. Get away from the door and never come back. You don't want to end up dead for drawing attention to the facility, do you?"

Maybe you do. Death would be better than being abandoned. But the part of you that's still loyal, the part that has been thoroughly trained to follow orders from handlers, makes you get up on shaky legs and walk away.

Walk away from your handler. Walk away from your comrades. Walk away from your life.

You find an empty bench in a park and lie down. It's dark out by now, the bench only illuminated by a street light right above it. You have no idea how you must look. A bruised, battered body with a metallic arm in clothing that doesn't match the outside weather.

You don't care. It doesn't matter how you look. You close your eyes, trying to imagine you're still in your bunk bed, sleeping above #065. #065 snored. You found it annoying at first, but it soon became a comfort. It meant you were right where you belonged. The park, on the other hand, is quiet. A stark reminder that you aren't welcome anymore.

The tears start up against your will. You sob, hiccuping and sputtering, and you must look so pathetic, but your handler isn't there anymore to beat sense into you. It's just you, alone, and you haven't been alone in... ever.

The sounds of your disgusting wailing must've drowned out the sound of footsteps approaching the bench, and so you're caught entirely off guard when a gentle voice asks, "Hey, is everything alright?"

You immediately sit up, on high alert, your brain screaming DANGER. But the woman holds up both hands, and you see there's no weapon on her. You relax just a fraction.

"I heard you crying," she explains. "And you look..." She trails off. She doesn't know how to address your swollen face.

"Go away," you say immediately. You're not supposed to draw attention, that was one of the rules you lived by up until now.

But you aren't bound by those rules anymore. You have been kicked out. So what's the protocol in dealing with strangers now? Are you supposed just make up your own rules?

The woman slowly lowers her hands. In a way, she reminds you of your handler. The same high ponytail, the same brown eyes. Except she's looking at you with pity instead of rage. Your handler has always been angry with you for something.

You stare at each other for a minute or so, neither of you moving or saying a word. She looks like she's looking for the right ones to make you feel at ease — you, on the other hand, have no intention of speaking to her any longer.

You stand up from the bench. You start walking away.

"Wait!" she calls after you. "Please! Are you from the facility?"

You stop. The locals aren't supposed to know what goes on inside the facility. Does she somehow know anyway?

"I can see your arm," she says, probably meaning your prosthetic. Many of the weapons got enhancements at the facility, it's nothing special. Just a metal arm. With a built-in blade. "I've seen others with similar prosthetics come and go from the facility. I... Truth is, I've been trying to look into it. The facility. There's some shady stuff going on in there, I'm pretty sure. Maybe you can help?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say.

"I've never seen anyone from there be out after nightfall. Especially not... in your condition."

The stupid tears keep falling down your face. You're so pathetic. That's why you've been kicked out. You angrily wipe the tears away and turn back around to face the woman.

~