B495

Azrael sat on the stretcher in the overly bright room, kicking his legs out as he watched the nurses buzz around. The tiny puncture on his arm from his injection stung a little but Azrael was used to pain, so it did not bother him much. He wondered when the nurses would let him go. He still had yet to complete his latest assassination exercise and he knew his training commander would not let him rest until he had done so.

The small boy let out a wide yawn, rubbing his bloody shot sleep-deprived eyes. He laid back down on the stretcher, where he could get a better look at the holographic screen Nurse Rian was swiftly flipping through. Azrael could not understand the medical jargon and various complicated equations but it seemed to be a report on how well his body was adjusting the enhancement drugs.

"Oi! No looking!" Nurse Rian snapped, and struck him with the punishment prod.

Azrael screamed, his body arching in pain as the electricity coursed through his body with blinding agony. The pain faded away as quickly as it came but it left Azrael panting and gasping on the bed, his body covered in cold sweat.

"This is classified information brat!" Nurse Rian snarled. "If I see you trying to take a peek again I'll send you to the detention centre!"

Azrael flinched, recalling his last visit there, which had left him with nearly all of his bones broken and his scalp split open.

"I'm sorry," the small boy whispered timidly, looking down as he wrapped his arms around himself. Nurse Rian let out an irritated huff as he went back to his report.

Lying on the bed, Azrael closed his eyes, deciding to take this opportunity to get as much sleep as he could, even though he knew he would be punished if the nurses found out he had fallen asleep. However, he really could not help himself any longer. He had not slept for the past 72 hours. At least a punishment from the nurses would be much more preferable than one delivered by his training commander if he were to perform poorly in the exercise later due to lack of sleep.

Azrael was not sure how long he was out for, or whether he dozed off at all but he woke up to the thunderous sound of blazing sirens. The next thing he knew a group of nurses ran into the room, wheeling a stretcher on which was a bloody mass of flesh that vaguely resembled a human form. Azrael felt his blood run cold.

His stretcher was shoved out of the way as the nurses rushed the newcomer to the operating table. Much of what proceeded was blocked from his view as the white-coated figures encircled the table but occasionally there would be an agonizing scream that made Azrael want to bury his head under his pillow.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sirens stopped. One of the nurses stepped away and announced, "Subject number B496, time of death 9.00p.m."

Subject number B496? Azrael felt his mind go into shock. That could not be right. He himself was known officially as subject number B495. There was absolutely no way that this was possible. He had simply misheard the nurse. The latest casualty could not be number B496. There was absolutely no way the latest casualty was his closest friend in the Garrison, right?

Azrael got out of the bed, his mind and body numb. He moved through throng of towering white-coated figures, ghost-like, towards the stretcher on which the body was being loaded onto. It seemed as if time had slowed to a crawl. He heard shouting, possibly at him, but it was only a dull buzz in his ears. It was just him and the body on the stretcher.

The body on the stretcher gazed at him with cold dead blue eyes. Most of his face had been reconstructed already and every familiar feature Azrael took in was like a punch to his stomach. Yet, he could not look away. The body's eyes seemed to grow accusing, angry the more he stared. You promised they would not hurt me, Azrael. You promised you would protect me, they seemed to say. You lied! You're a big fat liar! Liar liar liar liar LIAR!

Azrael screamed, covering his ears, desperately seeking reprieve from the deafening shrieks of accusation. But the voices were inside his head. No matter how hard he tried to block them out, they would not go away.

So he screamed and screamed, collapsed onto his knees and screamed, crawling towards the stretcher screaming.

"NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM AWAY! NO! NO! GET AWAY FROM HIM"

His pleas came out as incoherent shrieks of agony. Strong arms grabbed him. A needle was shoved into his arm. Everything went away.

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Azrael sat on the cold hard chair in a dimly lit office. Opposite him sat a brutally scarred man, who was scanning through a report. He shifted in his uncomfortable seat, but his wrists and ankles were shackled firmly to the chair, rendering him almost immobile.

"Subject number B495?" The man looked up from his report, raising an eyebrow.

"It's Azrael," Azrael said quietly, not meeting the man's eyes. The man's words barely registered in his mind.

Liar! Liar!

"You shall address yourself as what the board has named you, young man," the man responded coldly. "And that is subject number B495."

Azrael did not say anything so the man pressed on.

"I am Commander Ragnoroff and I am the Chief Disciplinary Officer of the Nebula Space Station. Do you know why you are here, B495?"

"I disobeyed direct orders to remain immobile and behaved insolently towards the nurses," Azrael replied robotically.

Liar! Liar!

"You will address the 'nurses' as medical officers, B495. And yes, you did indeed. You also disrupted a red-light emergency."

The man studied the papers for a bit before continuing.

"How old are you, B495?"

"10."

Liar! Liar!

"You seem to be a good cadet. You've only ever gotten detention twice since you started training. Can you tell me why there was the sudden transgression?"

"It was my friend. My friend was the one they were operating on during the emergency."

Liar! Liar!

"I know that. I have observed your apparent attachment to subject number B496 in your daily activities. However, this does not explain why you feel the need to chase after his stretcher when he was transported away and behave in the most uncivilized manner towards the senior medical officers."

"I-I'm sorry. I-I don't know why I did that. I guess I was u-upset. I didn't want them to take him away."

Liar! Liar!

"Have I heard quite right? You were upset? Are you implying that you were experiencing an emotion?"

Azrael nodded then quickly shook his head, before resigning and hanging his head.

"You are a clone, B495. Clones do not experience emotions."

Azrael glanced up, gazing at Commander Ragnoroff desperately with tear-filled eyes.

"I am sorry, Sir, but how could someone as intelligent as you possibly believe that?"

Liar! Liar!

Commander Ragnoroff raised an eyebrow.

"Do not show me your crocodile tears, cadet. The fact remains that you are a clone. Clones should not experience emotions and you shall refrain from doing so."

"Yes, sir," Azrael replied weakly.

Liar! Liar!

"You were created in the 10 years ago in this very space station, as part of Project GENEsis, an effort to design genetically-enhanced soldiers from human clones for the war."

Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!

"A clone. That is what you are and will always be."

Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!

"A tool to be used in the war. A weapon. Nothing else."

Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!

"Do you understand that?"

Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!

"SHUT UP! I AM NOT A LIAR!" Azrael screamed, writhing around, struggling in his bonds.

Commander Ragnoroff reached over and backhanded him viciously across the face.

Azrael felt a sharp pain on his lip and a trickle of blood dribbled down his chin. His cheek felt as if it was on fire. He fell back into his chair, eyes blank with shock.

Now that the screams were silenced at last, everything seemed to sink in with acute clarity.

"What was that again, Cadet?" Commander Ragnoroff spoke softly, his voice low and dangerous. "You told me to 'shut up'?"

"No!" Azrael cried, tears rushing to his eyes again. "No, I'm sorry! I didn't- I wasn't talking to you, Sir!"

Commander Ragnoroff slapped him again, stunning him into silence.

"Speak to me only when you have stopped your miserable wailing, cadet."

A few more raw sobs escaped before Azrael took a deep shuddering breath.

"I apologise, Sir, for my complete insolence. However, I was not speaking to you, Sir, I was merely..."

What could say? He could not possibly tell the Commander he was talking to voices inside his head. He had already made enough transgressions with his insolence and insubordination. If he were lucky, he would land himself a week in the detention centre. If the Commander was feeling unsympathetic, he might even be sentenced for execution. Saying that he heard his dead friend's voice in his mind, calling him a liar, would seal his fate.

"If you were not speaking to me, cadet, then who exactly were you addressing?" Commander Ragnoroff asked brusquely.

"I...I'm sorry, sir," Azrael could only stammer quietly. "I really didn't know what I was thinking...I just... I'm sorry...."

The Commander shook his head with a sigh.

"I am fond of you B495." The man said. "You have attained the best results for all of your tests in your Garrison. You could possibly be the best soldier that has ever been trained in the entirety of human history. If it were any other clone, you would be long dead before I could even have the chance to hear your apology. Personally, I do not wish to have you disposed of but if you continue to behave so irrationally, I would no choice but to remove you from the program."

"I understand sir! Which is why I promise, nothing like this will ever happen again! I completely assure you of that, sir!"

The Commander nodded slowly, his great head bobbing up and down like that of a fish.

"Good, good. Then perhaps I shall forgive you this time. However, if I were to receive news of one more transgression from you, straight to the incinerator you go, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"And do not think you will go unpunished this time. I have looked through all your transgressions and your records and your sentence this time will be three month at the detention centre."

Three months. Three whole months. Azrael stared at him, feeling shock numbing his body. Had there even been a clone that had survived three whole months at the detention centre?

Commander Ragnoroff smiled lightly.

"Consider this a small mercy on my part."