Undisclosed Location

[July 1st, 2004. 10:30 PM]

The words hung heavy in the dimly lit room. "We must fight," I declared.

"We're not fighting by choice," Booker interjected. "We're fighting on behalf of humanity. We've been thrust into this battle without consent."

Charlie's voice trembled with anger. "But they never asked for our consent, did they?"

"It's done," Booker mumbled with a trace of sadness. "These alien prosthetics were grafted onto our bodies years ago."

Inside my mind:

Trust me, I'm no one special. College? I dropped out. Then I joined a vocational school, shuffled through odd jobs, and ended up in fast food. Later, I found some relief in retail, though my supervisor's watchful eye was a constant. It was evident that my supervisor didn't like me much. I took orders, even from my co-workers, who suddenly tried to micromanage my every move. I despise micromanaging; it's infuriating.

But there's no room for complaints. I've had worse jobs, none of which will grace my resume. I won't even mention the times I scraped for extra cash to pay rent. It's better than being part of the permanently unemployable underclass. The only difference now is that I can't sneak away during lunch, crank up the music, and drive out of the parking lot in my beat-up car. At least back then, I could find some satisfaction in walking away.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

[11:00 PM]

"These prosthetics aren't of human origin; they're alien," Charlie's tone was bitter.

I felt uneasy about where this conversation was going. "Alien?" I asked.

"They're all gone now," Booker disclosed, his expression impassive. "The military had no choice but to cremate their remains to keep these prosthetics from falling into enemy hands."

Charlie couldn't help but smirk. "I hope you last longer than the guy we knew a few months ago. He could've been a hero, but it didn't work out that way."

The guy I replaced died on the job. Such is life.

[11:34 PM]

"We're utilizing technology that doesn't belong to us," Booker clarified. "We're disposable, and only two of us have survived over the years. Our comrades tend to turn on us."

"High turnover, to say the least," I said with a soft chuckle. Levity can't make this situation any more acceptable.

Charlie and Booker, however, were far from amused. Suspicion clouded my gaze.

"Killing those we once called comrades isn't something we enjoy," Charlie admitted, her voice a mix of fear and anger. "We're not thrilled about the possibility that we might meet the same fate."

I could hear the fear in her voice, growing within her.

"We're not monsters," Charlie continued, "but some days it certainly feels that way."

"Superhumanity is vastly overrated," Booker added, sharing a tired glance with Charlie.

"So, this is why they've locked us up?" I exclaimed, the frustration evident in my voice. "We were captured to fight a secret war, and now there's no hope of escape?"

"Pretty much," Booker sighed, deflating the room with a heavy sense of reality.

This situation is far from okay.