16. Roman
ROMAN
There never really was much left for me in the real world.
Not after my tour overseas. Four years in the military changed me into a man-made monster. I never did figure out how anyone got through it without losing themselves. Although to be fair, I never really was all that sane.
I liked breaking things. I liked watching the chaos unfold and the aftermath more so.
I liked breaking myself too.
It wasn’t long after that I found myself in the Dark Forces for my sins.
“Why six?” Dalton asked me as he poked my face. The scar was still a little tender, and I didn’t particularly enjoy him jabbing at it.
I swatted his hand away. Of all the people in the Under that I could befriend, he’s got to be the most annoying. “Because there were six of us,” I grumbled.
The Under Trials were the Dark Forces’ version of boot camp Essentially it was created to weed out the weak and find out how far criminals were willing to go in order to make it onto a squad. Only the best survived, and there were limited open spots.
Dalton frowned and looked at Nyla. She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Six of who?” she pried.
Six of my comrades that I led to their doom on my last mission when I was on a normal military unit, effectively landing me here. Booked in as a fucking criminal.
I smile. “I had five siblings.” It was easier to lie—better that they didn’t know the kind of guy I really was. The kind that liked to toy with things until I was ready to decide what to do with them.
“So is Syxx your real last name or one you made up?” Nyla grins. Sometimes I think she sees right through me.
“I’ll let you decide.” I would always tell them when they asked.
My lies didn’t help though. Not when I was stupid enough to trust the people I thought were my friends. Why did I expect them to tell me the truth when I was lying to them?
There are no truths in the underground military. Not between cadets.
The Under Trials were ruthless, yet I flourished so much that Nyla saw me as a threat. Someone to be taken care of before the final trial. In many ways she was right. But I would never betray my friends the way she did.
After the second trial started, we were supposed to team up and make sure the three of us made it to the boat. It didn’t take long after I cleared the path for them to turn on me.
Dalton at least looked like he struggled with his decision, but Nyla was another beast. The moment she thought I was down, she didn’t waste any time spearing Dalton right through his throat.
I won’t forget how much of myself I lost that day. Somewhere between bashing her head into the shoreline rocks and being one of twelve remaining cadets on the boat, I lost my humanity.
General Nolan saw that in me more than I’d like: a machine of madness for his wicked plans.
Nolan had a terrible dream of creating the ultimate soldiers. I heard that over a decade ago. He even went as far as to test capsules that made soldiers feel no pain. Wouldn’t that have been something?
I was his current muse. He wanted more than resistance to pain. He wanted someone impenetrable.
Someone bulletproof.
He had mesh specifically made that stops bullets from going farther than a few centimeters into your body.
Apparently, I was the ideal candidate for such an experiment.
It started slow; the first one was installed over my heart.
Then he had them placed everywhere: over my shoulder blades, knees, abdomen, my forehead, neck, everywhere.
The scars are brutal, but they’re worth it. I was skeptical at first. Everyone was, I think. But after I was shot square in the chest and the bullet didn’t go more than half an inch inside me, it changed the game.
After the surgeries were done, I became addicted to the pain of healing scars. So I’d brand my skin. The Dark Forces’ psychiatrist said that it was a mental illness, this self-punishment. I never let him get too far into my head, so I never figured out what I was punishing myself for.
The deaths of my friends in the Under Trials perhaps. The lack of trust and faith I have in anything anymore. The way we are constantly sent to snuff out people like candlelight.
I think I scar myself just because I like it.
Although, the sense of loneliness that burrows in my chest only seems to get deeper. I can’t fill it with pain forever.
Sometimes I wonder if the only part of me that’s actually bulletproof is my wicked soul.