The Annihilation Code

Chapter Thirteen ➹ Atlas Contreras ➹

I was born exactly two months, three weeks and one day before I was due. I was so small and sickly, the doctors said not to get attached. My parents had a coffin picked out and everything. I survived, even though the odds were stacked against me. I've always had to fight for my life. From growing up on the streets to being drafted into the cyborg army, to competing in Cybrawls, to even today, I've had to fight. The world is wearing me down, I don't know how much more I can take before I give in. I'm like a candle that's about to flicker out.

Chase gave me a concerned look. "What's wrong? You're making your gloomy face."

I hate it when people read my mood. I want to sulk about my own existence in peace! "I'm just tired."

"Stop it. As your friend, I won't let you lie about what you're going through! Talk to me."

"Are we friends now?" I've never had many friends. I'm not sure what the friendship protocol is.

"Yep! I've decided we're officially friends. Now you're stuck with me forever. You can never get rid of me, pal. Our shared trauma of almost being murdered by killer cyborgs has bonded us for life."

"For life? That's quite a long commitment."

"Not if people keep trying to kill us."

We walk in silence towards Harv's stall.

"Are you scared of death?"  Chase asked abruptly.

"Woah, why so serious all of a sudden?"

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, we are friends now, and friends don't shy away from discussing difficult topics."

"No, I'm not afraid to die. A part of me feels like I was meant to die a long time ago. Now it feels like I've lived past my expiration date, and I'm not sure what I'm meant to do anymore. You know? I'm not suicidal but—"

"No, I get it. Since the car crash, I've been having a bit of a crisis." He confessed. "I never realized how much of my identity was rooted in my career. Modeling is the only thing I've ever been good at. I don't know what to live for anymore."

I gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "I hope you find something to live for. You deserve to be happy."

He glanced at me sorrowfully. "So do you."

"I wish that was true, but after all the lives I've taken, I'm not sure that I deserve anything."

Chase came to an abrupt halt. "Stop acting like you're the villain in this scenario! It's getting super annoying. You're a victim. You were a kid and the army forced you to do those things. I know it's not easy to hear, but you were abused."

Victim? Abuse? Those words caused me to recoil. That can't be right! Chase doesn't know anything! I'm a monster, I'm a killer! I'm... I thought about every person I killed. I forced myself to recall the details of every execution I carried out. As I was thinking, a repressed memory gradually revealed itself. I remembered receiving my first assignment. I recall protesting and trying to escape. They punished me for my insubordination. They threw me in solitary confinement without food or water for days. I remember laying on the cell's cold floor and sobbing. Every day, my commanding officer would visit me and ask if I was ready to kill. I spat in his face until my body's need for food and water superseded my moral compass. Then I did it. I killed for the second time. The words victim and abuse raced through my head. Was it possible I was a victim and not a monster? I recalled vague memories of many nights spent in solitary confinement. Did I try to fight back against them? I always saw myself as a ruthless killer, but maybe that was a narrative I invented to protect myself from the truth. Abuse. Victim. I suppose it was easier for me to believe that I was heartless than to cope with the reality of being abused. I wanted to believe I wasn't helpless. But...