The Purging

Number One Forty Seven

“Jesus, sometimes I forget that you subjects have been out of commission for a while. With all your ‘you can’t do this to me’ and your ‘I’m a human being’. God, where to begin...” A small LCD screen slides from the wall. On the screen is a young man. He is quite thin and fair skinned, sitting at a keyboard, and surrounded by a pile of empty energy drink cans. Hood eyed and tilting his head slightly to the left with one raised eyebrow, he looks Ben up and down, “It’ll be easier to have this part of the conversation ‘face to face’ so to speak.”

The young man smirks at him through the monitor, “You are not an American citizen, as there is no longer an America. The United States government and infrastructure were completely destroyed during The Purging. Second, you have zero human rights, for a variety of reasons. First off; you’re dead and corpses don’t really have rights. And secondly, just look in the mirror dummy. Does that look like a human to you? Because to me, it looks more like a robot.”

Ben looks back at the screen puzzled, “I’m not dead. I’m standing right here, and what’s The Purging?”

The man on the screen rolls his eyes and begins talking in a much more condescending tone of voice, “Some days I just hate my job. Look, The Purging was a seven day war between humanity and the preternatural species. Sufficed to say, we lost... big time. Four point seven billion people dead inside one week. Your former self, one Benjamin Gustavo Gutierrez, died in California on day one of the war; we called that day ‘Nightfall’.”

Ben lets out an angry snort, “Nightfall? That sounds ridiculous. I’m assuming by preternatural species you mean vampires, right? Is that why I’m still alive? Did one of them bite me or something?”

Again the man bursts out in hysterics and struggles to formulate a cogent reply, “Uh... no. If you had been contaminated by the vampires, we would not have been able to use you for experimentation. Infected tissue rejects implants almost instantly. For the record, I’ve never liked ‘Nightfall’ either. I personally suggested ‘Twilight’, but some asshole had it trademarked. You’re reanimated due to some top notch electro plastilical surgery performed by a colleague of mine.” He gives the wink and the gun to an unseen person off frame, “Furthermore, there are a number of preternatural species besides vampires, number one forty seven. There’s the animi, the channels, the tractatori, and that’s just the tip of the proverbial iceberg really. When they all moved on us at once, we didn’t have a hope in hell. If only the tech that created the new you had been prepped and ready two months ago, maybe we would have stood a chance.”

Patience dwindling with each passing second, Ben begins yelling into the screen, “Stop calling me number one forty seven! My name is Ben mother fucker!”

Smiling arrogantly back at Ben from the tiny screen, the stranger continues, “As I just told you, Ben Gutierrez died of the injuries he sustained two months ago. You are a cyborg created using his discarded organ tissue and spinal column, combined with mechanical parts that were designed and built by yours truly. My name is Theodore Haniawa by the way, though if you prefer to call me motherfucker, that's fine too. God knows I would. Can we please return to the matter at hand? Just hold your arms out parallel at your shoulders so we can move on with the testing protocols.” Exasperated with the conversation, Ben obliges and holds out his arms, “Say ‘Hull blades’ please.”

Following his directive, Ben utters the phrase. His arms spread apart and reveal a set of multiple glistening curved blades. Each arm has one long weapon extending directly out from the centre of the knuckles, as well as two protruding at ninety degree angles from the sides of the wrists. An impressed Ben barks emphatically, “Oooooo! Fancy!”

Beaming with pride, Theo chuckles, “I know right?! I’m a genius and you’re a work of art, one forty seven. OK, moving right along, retract the blades and say ‘cannons’ please.” Simply thinking of retracting the blades causes them to return to within his arms. He again follows directions, and this time mounted firearms present themselves from the tops of his shoulder blades.