Page 103 of Godslayer
It’s only done once.
Once.Once, and that’s it.
I force myself to relax. Forcin’ myself to believe this. Because I can’t even imagine… this can’t be happenin’.
Breathe, Tyse.Calm, Tyse.
It can’t be true because it can’t be done…
I am fourteen.
I am strong, and willin’, and ready.
I amnotafraid.
I’m not.
I’m excited.
That’s what I tell myself as I stare up at the lights above the augmentation table—their harsh, clinical glow making my skin prickle up with anticipation. The straps around my body are snug, but I don’t fight them. There’s no need.
I am here of my own free will.
I want this. I want this more than anythin’. And whatever happens next, it will be worth it. I will be stronger, faster, smarter. One of the smartest humans to ever live. One of the most dangerous to ever fight for the Sweep. These are the last minutes of my boyhood because when it’s over, I’ll be a soldier.
A real soldier. A Sweep Augment. And not just any augment—agod’ssoldier.
Delta’s augment.
I hate that fucker, but if you’ve got to pick a team, you want to be on his.
My skin is buzzin’. Like static electricity before a sand storm. Expectant, and eager, and impatient. I just want to get on with it. I just want to be better.
I just want to matter.
The door bangsopenand Epsilon returns. This time he doesn’t stay out of my peripheral vision, but hovers right over top of me. I nearly gasp because he’s… meltin’. His face, it’s scarred beyond recognition. Nothin’ like I’ve ever seen before.
Well, not true. I saw him on the tracks when they lured me into their trap.
He’s the Corrupted God.
The one Myra used to tell stories about.
The story I never let her finish.
Excited, Epsilon rubs his hands together as he checks Luther’s work—which is complete now. All the needles the thread-like tubes have been inserted into the cage hoverin’ above me.
The god claps Luther on the back. The sound is wet—too heavy, like Luther’s bones are softer than they should be. “I love it when you follow orders.”
I catch Luther grinnin’ out of the corner of my eye. He’s such a twitchy, sketchy thing. He doesn’t make sense. “I did it just like you said. I set it all up, just like you said. Needles and thread.Needles and thread!” He cackles. “We’re gonna thread you with some spark!”
“Shhhhhh,” Epsilon hisses, movin’ to the machine, fingers grazin’ the threads, the wires, the ugly cage of metal hangin’ over me. “We don’t want to upset our new brother, Luther. Remember what it was like when you were on this table?”
Luther whines like a puppy. “I do…” He hesitates. “But I don’t want to.”
“That’s OK,” Epsilon hums, petting Luther’s greasy hair. “You don’t have to remember your pain, just what a relief it was when your threadmaster was congenial during the process. You don’t have to be kind—just empathetic.”
“Yes, yes,” Luther eagerly says. “I understand. I do. I understand. Be nice, Luther. Be nice! And if you’re nice, someone will be nice to you back.”
