Kaiden awoke in silence.
No alarms. No flashing lights. Just the distant hum of machines working tirelessly, like insects crawling inside walls.
He lay still, staring at the stone ceiling above. A strange part of him expected to wake up in a hospital bed back on Earth. Or a morgue. Or not at all.
Instead, he was in a cold chamber lined with metal pipes, surrounded by faint steam and shadowed walls. His limbs felt heavier than before — not tired but weighted. Off-balance.
He slowly sat up.
No restraints this time.
His arm clanked against the floor.
He looked down.
The memory was there — the train, the pain, the inhuman voice calling him a weapon. And yet, when he stared at the mechanical limbs bolted into what was once flesh, he didn't scream. He didn't weep. His heart didn't even race.
A part of him felt like it should.
But it didn't.
Instead, Kaiden flexed the mechanical fingers of his right hand. They responded instantly, each digit moving like a puppet's wire. Metal on metal. Efficient. Controlled. Unfeeling.
He stood, slightly off-balance, his left leg hissing with pressure and pistons.
He walked slowly to the far wall, where a steel panel gave a faint reflection. Not quite a mirror, but enough.
Half his face remained human. The other half… patched with black iron and tubing, like armor fused to flesh. His eye had been replaced — a red lens rotated slightly as he tilted his head.
He stared at himself.
Not in horror.
Not in grief.
Just… study.
"Is this better?" he whispered, voice rough.
A thought wormed its way to the front of his mind, quiet and traitorous:
You always wanted control, didn't you?
The door opened behind him.
Kaiden turned, posture upright.
The demon commander entered with a faint whirr of armor and cloak. Two robbed subordinates followed, carrying scrolls and mechanical tools.
"Weapon K-01," the commander said without pause. "Good. Still functioning."
"I'm not your damn weapon."
"No," the demon said smoothly. "Not yet. That's what today is for."
Kaiden narrowed his eyes. "What now? More parts to bolt onto me?"
"A trial. Function, efficiency, combat response. If you meet expectations, you'll be assigned to a field squad. If not…"
The demon's gaze shifted to a waste chute along the far wall.
Kaiden didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
________________________________________
The training chamber was dim, circular, made of iron and stone. Torches lit the edges. Four figures waited inside — demon soldiers in varying gear, muscle and arrogance in equal measures.
"Is this the tin toy we're testing?" one of them snorted. A hulking warrior with jagged shoulder guards and a crooked scar down one cheek. "Looks like he got thrown into a forge and forgot to climb out."
Another laughed. "Maybe we just wait. Let him rust himself unconscious."
Kaiden said nothing.
He rolled his neck slowly, ignoring the grinding noise from his spinal implant.
The commander gestured lazily. "Spar. Non-lethal. Unless he proves himself defective."
The big one stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "I'll be gentle, machine-boy."
Kaiden moved first.
His body didn't respond perfectly — his left leg jerked too far forward, throwing his balance. The soldier ducked and slammed a fist into Kaiden's ribs. The impact rang metal like a bell.
Kaiden grunted, stumbled, but didn't fall.
Another strike came. Kaiden caught it mid-air with his right arm — metal hand gripping flesh.
There was a snap.
The soldier screamed.
Kaiden twisted the arm, pivoted, and slammed his metal elbow into the man's throat. Another punch, mechanical and brutal, dropped him to the ground.
Silence.
Kaiden's breathing was ragged — not from exhaustion, but from his systems overclocking. His vision blurred for a moment as internal alarms blinked in his vision.
The commander raised a hand — signaling the end.
The other soldiers helped the groaning man up.
Kaiden stood tall, chest heaving, arm twitching from stress.
"Acceptable," the demon commander said. "Functionality: crude, but effective."
He stepped closer.
"You will join a patrol unit. If you survive, we may consider… upgrades."
"Gee, thanks," Kaiden muttered, voice dry.
The commander didn't smile.
"We don't care if you're grateful. Only that you're functional."
He turned to leave.
One of the robbed assistants stayed behind, staring at Kaiden curiously before dropping a wrapped item in his hand — a dark red cloth with an insignia stitched into it.
"Squad 7," the robed figure said.
Kaiden looked down at the patch.
It wasn't pride. It wasn't promotion.
It was just branding.
________________________________________
Later that night, Kaiden sat on a bench in a storage room, alone.
His fingers tapped against his knee — part metal, part nothing.
He opened and closed his hand slowly, listening to the tiny servos whisper.
"I'm not your tool," he said quietly, even if no one could hear him.
He repeated it.
Not louder.
Just colder.
"I'm not your tool."