It was an honor, or so you were told, to join the ranks of SUPER. But it didn’t feel like one. Not when your fingerprints were burned off, your family was sent far away from you, and your body was changed irreparably.

They told you it was an honor to become a weapon. That a thousand soldiers would kill to be in your place and be able to protect their country so fiercely.

Your hands shook as you wrapped your knuckles, flexing your fingers as you did to keep them from turning blue. You’d made that mistake before, and Lumen had lectured you for it. It’s not that you were weak, nor were you wet behind the ears. You’d been selected for the Soldier Upgrade Project the same as anyone else. Your bravery in battle, your unwavering loyalty, and your propensity for practicality had all been weaponized the same way your body had.

Lumen existed as a living reminder that when joining SUPER, you didn’t just sign up, you signed your life away. The cyborg slinked through the halls of headquarters. The single highrise that served as living quarters, workplace, and training grounds alike. He only left for deployments, only spoke when spoken to, only did as he was told. All the while you could see the hatred that burned in his soul. The roaring flame that had only been stoked by the pain and suffering his new “enhanced” life had brought.

The lights of the city outside glinted in the metal that made up Lumen’s body. You wondered if he polished it himself, or if the technicians did. You’d heard about Lumen’s experience in the program not long after you joined yourself. The story was passed down in hushed tones to all the newcomers, half gossip, half warning. You tried not to think about it. The pain of shattering every bone in your body at once, and the reckoning that must’ve followed as Lumen lived to tell the tale. Except he didn’t tell it. He let everyone else do that for him. And, in fact, Lumen preferred to rarely speak at all.

Fortunately, sparring was a silent affair, and one Lumen was rather skilled at. The only sounds in the gym were the quiet shuffling of footwork, the occasional grunt or puff of air, and the thud of flesh and bone against cool metal.

Your leg arced through the air as you leveled a kick to Lumen’s chest. But it never made contact. You felt cold metal fingers grasp your ankle, throwing you off balance and letting you slam into the mats below. You gasped, air rushing back into your lungs as you blinked stars from your eyes.

When you finally sat up, you expected to see Lumen’s usual stoic expression, or maybe even a smirk for beating you. What you didn’t expect was the look of sheer terror in his eyes. His hands hovered in midair, as if to hold some ephemeral precious object from escaping him. For a moment you thought he might offer to help you up, but his fists promptly dropped and balled at his sides.

“I’ll request a new sparring partner for you. I’m not fit to spar with someone so below my skill level.” His words were biting, but you could see the way his gaze traced over you, cataloging every wince and muscle twitch. “My hands only break things. It’s too risky for me to even be sparring. Especially with you.”

The last part escaped his lips as nothing more than a whisper, one you were undoubtedly not meant to hear, yet made your skin prickle all the same.