Back down on the ground, Jason was keeping watch on the school, straining his hearing to pick up even a scrap of information about what was happening on the inside. A foolish endeavor, as the all-present chatter of the mannequins made it almost impossible to pick up the finer audio details, even with his enhanced sense of hearing. That, and Dirk seemed to be working extra quietly.

The giant had no doubt that the old man stuck the landing without much issue, but that didn’t prevent his mind from running wild with all the worst possible scenarios.

“What if he got knocked out? Or worse yet, cut, or broke a bone.” - he wanted to scratch his skin as a stress reaction, something he often did unconsciously, but stopped himself, being extra careful to stay in the role. There were probably cameras around.

But aside from the doomsaying voice of worry, there was also one of restlessness. That one, however, was not his own.

“Get in there and crack some skulls.” - the voice egged him on, its sound raspy and whisper-like one moment, and deep and bubbling the next. An ever-changing cacophony of sounds bumping around in Jason’s head. “We didn’t come here to spectate. We came to get a taste of our true purpose, and you’re denying us that.” - with those words, the artery on Jason’s neck flashed a faint hue of gold for a split second.

“We are on standby. Learn some discipline, because we’ll be needing a lot of it if we even make it into the convoy.” - Jason answered in his head, keeping up his show of robotic bobbing and slight twitching to the outside eye.

“Discipline?” - the voice boomed, almost making Jason flinch. - “You dare lecture me about discipline? For years I’ve kept in the shadows, letting you live out your foolish fantasy, subsisting on pathetic scraps of my purpose you threw my way. For years I’ve been denied the feast that is total carnage, our true calling. No more, Chrysos. The pot is starting to boil over.” - with each word glazed equally in simmering rage and sweet temptation, parts of Jason’s body lit up underneath his clothes, as if taunting him, threatening to expose him on tape, however never truly giving away the secret.

“Behave yourself, you demon.” - Jason seethed on the inside, keeping his cool on the outside.

“Oh? A demon? Is that what you naively think of me?” - the voice cackled. - “What do you think that makes you? A little angel to oppose me? Fool. We are two sides of the same coin. One double-edged sword. The Alpha and the Omega.” - bile surged within the voice, making Jason shiver. - “Things may start with you, but they’ll always end with me.”

As those words rang out in his head, Jason felt weak in the legs as pain spread from his feet all the way up to his torso, a disgusting wet feeling encompassing his feet.

“Behave yourself! If we fuck things up now, there will be no convoy. No mission! No conflict!”

“There will always be conflict. This is how humans operate. Killing each other for their own gains, trampling on the lives of others to feast on their rotting corpses. We just have to insert ourselves right in the midst of battle. Which one? It couldn’t matter less. Just let loose and–”

Before the voice finished, something tapped Jason on the shoulder, instantly pulling him out of his little mind palace.

- What are you? - one of the mannequins played a line to him, curiously poking at him with a segmented finger.

The regenerator merely turned towards it slowly, making sure to play his part of an obedient, but self-sufficient weapon.

- A sheep? A goat? Kinda weird. Did you pick the helmet yourself? - the automaton kept pestering him, poking and poking, but not getting a reaction.

Was this a part of the scenario? Was this meant to test his composure when not under direct and strict supervision from Dirk?

Perhaps.

But there was something very odd about the little robot. It wore a plain white t-shirt and loose black pants. It seemed like the definition of the word “default.”

- Can you talk? - another pointless question was thrown his way.

Of course he could. And obviously he wouldn’t.

- Oh! - the thing perked up a bit, but in voice only. - Sorry, you are probably confused. It’s me, Prusk! I’m done with my first trial, so I hijacked one of the robots to talk to you!

The woman from before? That threw Jason in for a loop.

Why would she even want to talk to him? He made it very apparent that he was mindless. Naive.

How very naive…

But it also made Jason crack a smile on the inside. The honesty with which she approached him then and now was… fresh, for the lack of a better word.

He couldn’t parse his feelings any further, though, not now, so he stopped this train of thought, instead focusing on the cold reality.

How did she even hijack the thing? The mannequins were all white noise, disposable and numerous, Jason guessed, but they were still Ouroboros' property in a secret military compound.

It couldn’t have been easy.

Worse yet, it probably didn’t go unnoticed by Tom Holder, or whoever else was in charge of operating this busy throng of fake people. It was bound to bring even more attention to him, and the idea annoyed Jason slightly. It was already pretty hard to keep all his emotions and reactions in check, and now he felt the gaze of prying eyes pierce him from every direction. Or perhaps he just got conscious and paranoid.

“Let loose. I bet that if you go out of control, they’ll send some dangerous people to subjugate you. Good luck with that, but it’s bound to be stimulating.” - throughout the whole interaction, Fleece kept bothering him on the mental front, threatening to completely overload Jason’s mind.

“Shut up.” - Jason answered in his mind, feeling his pressure rise as the double assault of words continued.

- Does your… “master”... treat you well? - Prusk asked through the stolen surrogate, blissfully unaware of something that caught Jason’s eye on the rooftops.

He saw movement in the corner of his eye, but opted not to turn without direct outside interaction to really sell his act, but from what he could understand, there were dozens of things moving there, busily taking positions at the edges of the surrounding buildings. Were they..?

“Oh shit!” - he cut off Fleece’s rambling as his head filled with alarm sirens. - “Snipers.”

Despite the sudden turn of events and the incessant distractions and goading coming from the most unwelcome co-host of his body, Jason knew better than to slip up and break the kayfabe.

His whole body shook, and muscles defied the laws of nature, ballooning out to unimaginable proportions as a net of gold spread underneath his skin.

The Mannequin inhabited by Prusk shuddered, despite being just a stand-in for the real person. Or perhaps it was the ground underneath its feet that sent tremors through the metal body, unsettled by Jason’s activation.

- What’s wrong? - she asked in a worried tone.

Argonaut roared on the top of his lungs in response, looking towards the rooftops.

Prusk’s avatar looked on in apparent horror at the grotesque display of primal fury, but the puppeteer inside remained vigilant even in spite of it.

Just as quickly as Jason’s sudden rage shifted fully to the rooftops, so did the mannequin’s attention. The woman caught on pretty quickly, dashing to the side, out of the giant’s way. He was a predator, and up there was his prey.

Fighting against the reckless urge, he froze in place, flexing every muscle in his body erratically, struggling to disperse the latent energies inside him. His hands were tied, and by none other than his “master”. Dirk gave the boy an order to wait, and so he would, probably much to the amusement of one ‘peeping Tom’ overseeing this evaluation.

Like a ping in the dead silence of the night, his collar emitted a sound only he could hear.

“So he’s fine.” - Jason expelled a long held breath. - “And even noticed my roar.”

The signal left no room for doubt. It was foolproof, after all, courtesy of Witchdoctor Chrysos. It came straight from Dirk’s leash. The collar Jason wore was the real deal and retained all the functions necessary to make the regenerators dance to their masters’ tunes. He received an order to his neural system directly as the B-class regenerator he was playing would, but unlike his lobotomized counterparts, the disposable, biological war-machines, his mental faculties were fully intact.

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He felt the shivering signal traveling up his spine.

It filled him with relief that he could finally help. The order was loud and clear:

“Neutralize with extreme prejudice, limit collateral”.

Argonaut’s t-shirt got suddenly torn asunder, as the almost three-meter tall behemoth launched itself towards the roof. In a blink of an eye, one of the edges of the school gymnasium exploded in a cloud of dust and debris. To ensure that none of them would harm the few students who were still loitering outside, young Chrysos curled up into a ball mid-flight, to limit the impact area.

His idea proved successful as none were harmed by the few falling chunks of concrete. The same couldn’t have been said about the two mannequins with guns who took cover near the impact zone. Their bodies laid strewn about the roof.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” - Fleece applauded, filling his head with noise. - “Tear them apart! Let the slaughter begin!”

It didn’t happen often, but in this instance, Jason had to agree with it. He roared once again, his voice escaping his gut, no longer sounding human in the slightest, replaced by an incoherent amalgam of wild animals, trying to terrify their prey.

The mannequins surrounding him started playing loud voice clips, but Argonaut couldn’t hear them, not with Fleece as aroused as it was. First shots rang, hitting many different spots in his body. Wounds formed, bullets ripped through skin and sinew alike. He felt it everywhere, the radiating pulses of pain.

“Oh yeah baby! It’s that good shit!” - Fleece said, or maybe it was him? Jason could not tell anymore, everything inside his skull was a mess. - “Not like those bitch-ass slaps of that Russian cunt! This is what we live for! This is the supreme authority of-”

On instinct, the man-shaped behemoth pounced and, with its weight alone propelled with unimaginable force, turned another two machines into oily paste.

“-OF VIOLENCE!”

He lost it.

It was way too long since he experienced this. Even if it was nothing but a simple simulation, to him, it felt all too real. It was the proof of Ouroboros’ craftsmanship and ingenuity. To create such lifelike prey.

All the high caliber bullets hitting him felt like playful nudges, begging him for more. The beast grabbed the torn body parts of the automatons and turned around 180 degrees, snapping his own spine in the process. But it was no matter. As he let the improvised projectiles go his spinal cord already fixed itself. Without stopping this murderous momentum, his head clad in the golden helmet snapped around in search of new targets, There was no need to check if his previous victims were dead, the deafening crash of mangled metal was enough of a proof.

More mannequins appeared in his hazy line of sight.

“Keep em’ coming, keep em’ dying!” - the inner voice roared with ecstasy as the regenerator's body moved on autopilot.

Breaking into a mad sprint, he simply ran into the next group, which desperately shot at him. One died on the spot, being trampled underfoot. Another one flew backwards, torn to pieces by a simple swat of Argonaut’s hand. The next two stabbed something into him, probably bayonets.

“Blades? I’ll show you real blades!” - in response, the beast outstretched its fingers on both hands, keeping them together, as if ready to slap someone over the head.

But a mere slap wouldn’t do this carnival of carnage justice. His straight, open hands cut through metal carapaces like butter, bisecting two mannequins like they were nothing. But it wasn’t enough, there had to be more.

Fleece knew there had to be. It had soaked every last bit of information Jason allowed it to, and then some more on top. About their whereabouts, and about their opponents. It knew very well that the piece of meat known as “Tom Holder” was smart. It wouldn’t underestimate a regenerator such as them.

As if summoned by that reflection, more bullets hit Argonaut’s back. Like an owl, he snapped his head around, towards the direction from which shots were fired. There they were.

More mannequins. More slaughter. How delightful.

Fleece felt quite unfulfilled by the lack of blood and flesh to tear into, but it wasn’t boorish enough to not appreciate a little “rehearsal” before the carnage that shall come in the foreseeable future.

Hyping itself up even more, the regenerator leaned back and roared towards the sky.

Was it Fleece?

Or Jason?

Even they didn’t know for sure where the one ended and the other began. Not during combat. Not with so many stimuli.

The monster bulged its thigh-muscles and unleashed all the pent-up strength by sending itself like a rock from a trebuchet towards another batch of opponents. They never stood a chance. See-through conductive fluid rained down upon Prusk that stood in the empty plaza below. With it came torn and bent pieces of steel, alongside many different weapon parts.

What she saw was scientific genius beyond human understanding made manifest. She should have felt honored, being the first homo-sapiens in over a decade to see a regenerator in action. The pinnacle of its species. The masterwork of a mad genius… and yet all she felt was…

Excitement.

- Holy fucking shit. - the mechanical receptacle sent her voice over. - You sure know how to pop-off, Argonaut.

How she wished to spar with that beast while piloting “Pollux”, her combat mech. Just a vague estimate of destruction they could both unleash sent a tingle down her spine.

Now her mind was dead-set on befriending that bioweapon. There could be no better sparring partner to hone her pilot skills than him.

- I just need to convince that old man to allow Argonaut some R&R with me. Hope he won’t be too obtuse. - Prusk frowned. - He does sound like a dick when talking about the big guy.

- I’m not deaf, you know?

The mannequin twitched slightly in response to the familiar voice.

It was Dirk, in the flesh, walking out of the school with a large suitcase.

- I won’t even ask how you can speak through that mannequin. - despite talking to her, the old dog kept looking towards the rooftop, from which mechanical blood and artificial body-parts fell in abundance. - Admiring Argonaut’s work?

- Yeah, he sure is something. You trained him?

- Nope. It’s all natural instinct. Well, as natural as they made it.

- Hot damn.

- You can say that again. - Chernobog chuckled. - But it would still be an understatement.

- Why does mercenary recruitment always turn into a contest of how many regulations you guys can break in the least amount of time? - the voice of Tom Holder broke up their conversation, this time surprising both Dirk and Prusk, as it came from the hijacked mannequin. - I’m talking about you too, Miss Prusk.

- Mission accomplished. - Dirk stared into the ether, raising the suitcase into the air. He didn’t bother turning towards the source of the voice, opting to simply stand beside it. Tom had his eyes everywhere anyway.

- Congratulations. Too bad you didn’t fire a single shot during a firearms evaluation. Can’t you people follow simple instructions? Aren’t you a soldier? - Tom’s voice sounded exhausted and muffled, as if he was talking through his hands.

- The greatest skill with a weapon is knowing when to use it and when to hold back. - Chernobog explained.

- Philosophy won’t win you any points with the management.

- I hope the results will. What’s my detection status with the civilians?

- It was zero… - Tom sighed. - but it’s going up.

- Huh?

- Look behind you.

Dirk turned around only to see a medium-sized crowd forming a safe distance away from him, holding mock-phones in their hands and presumably recording something.

- Your weapon is making quite a spectacle. Not only did it break the rule of not interfering with your test twice, but now he’s ruining the company’s PR with that rain of gore. Those snipers were meant for you.

“Shit.” - Dirk couldn’t help but think as he raised the leash up to his mouth.

- Argonaut, return! - he commanded, but to little avail. The carnage continued up top.

- Your penalties are mounting, Chernobog, and the clock is ticking. There’s only so much company time I can spare for you.

Dirk bit his lip and after a brief moment of deliberation, almost imperceptible to the onlookers, pulled on the leash pretty hard, instantly cutting the sounds of the massacre off.

Jason roared once, then again, this time quieter, and went silent.

It only took him a second from there to return, landing in front of Dirk with the great force of his bloated body hitting the ground with a thud, kicking up clouds of dust. He stuck the landing with his feet, not bothering to dampen the impact with any rolls or slides. Any damage would regenerate instantly anyway, as Fleece was obviously engaged and agitated. His body was in pristine condition, not even having a single mark on it, but the same couldn’t be said about his clothes, now riddled with holes.

- I had great hopes for you, Chernobog, but things are not looking up for you at the moment. Let’s hope you turn it around in the next trial. - he announced solemnly. - Penalties will be applied to you too, Miss Prusk. The company does not appreciate outsiders fiddling with its equipment.

- Crap. - she cussed back, and the mannequin went limp.

Dirk grit his teeth, but kept his poker face on. Tom was right. Gone were the days of Ares, the god of war, when he could do the things the way he saw fit, improvising every other second, changing plans on the run to suit the situation, even if it meant angering the people above him.

He got too used to his status back then, to being above reprimand because of his accomplishments.

He was now nothing more than a rank-and-file, and he had to start acting this way if he wanted this job.

At this rate, his hubris was once again going to be his undoing.