When studying the various Cycles, one must remember that names for similar things will differ from Cycle to Cycle.

The Harvested with more training before being released will be more likely to follow Legion standard naming, but Cycles where training time is limited or non-existent will diverge wildly.

The Returned bring their names for things back, which then become part of the new Cycle's vocabulary.

- Excerpt from Marvelous Sanctuary by P.P. Hamilton.

***

While growing up, I was never like those girls who screamed when scared, shocked, or spooked. I had four older brothers, and my single mum worked most of the time.

Before Gran moved in, my eldest brother was in charge of us during the day, and that was... Well, back then, if I showed even a hint of fear, my brothers would torture me relentlessly with whatever scared me. I learned that lesson when I was five or so, and they found a garden snake.

So I grew up learning to keep a lid on things that frightened me. Eventually, I even went so far as to seek out things that scared me to prove that I wasn't afraid. I'm still unsure who I'd needed to prove my fearlessness to or if that somebody even believed the blatant lie, but I still jumped on whatever scared me like an adrenaline junky. Of course, Jo joined me in every terrifying experience, and I joined her in hers.

Afraid of snakes? Work part-time in an exotic pet store.

Afraid of heights? Take up rock climbing and skydiving.

Afraid of drowning? Take up scuba diving.

Afraid of the giant insects that are out there? Hide in a dark bathroom with the door locked, and whatever I do, think of reasons not to go outside.

Yea, that one might not fit on that list.

But I'm not stupid; there are scary things that you can do somewhat safely. There are also things you should be afraid of and avoid, like things that actively want to kill you. That was true even before the last few days made it doubly so.

Also, I still loathe snakes and anything snakelike, but that's just common sense. They're hideous things.

Still, mental and physical exhaustion was probably the only reason I even slept the little bit I did.

I'd shot up in a panic, drenched in sweat, with my heart going a thousand kloms an hour multiple times in the night. I couldn't remember the nightmares, but they left me gasping for air and floundering for the light switch in my unfamiliar bed. Every time it took me a few panicky moments before I realized where I was and switched on my flashlight.

The light didn't make it much better, though. I repeatedly moved the light to shine into the dark room's corners to make sure nothing was in there with me.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Slowly, the breathing exercise helped me calm down when it turned out the bathroom was not filled with giant insects trying to cut off my head and rip open my spine.

I'd fumbled my travel mug out of my bag the first time I woke up and was sipping the remains of the precious fluid after I'd decided that I was done sleeping.

The good news was that while I was still tired, my headache was almost gone, and my eyes no longer felt hot with infection. However, the rest of my aches and pains were still making themselves known. I was stiff and tired. Like how I usually felt in the days after a triathlon; weary and bruised.

But not as if I had had major surgery just a few days ago.

That was weird, wasn't it? How wasn't I not in pain?

When they removed my appendix, I remember agony for days and discomfort for weeks.

After coming up with over half a dozen ideas, each more outlandish than the last, I shelved the line of thought for now.

Food, water, and keep moving.

Staying in the bathroom might make me feel slightly better, but not only did it clash with the keep-moving priority, I'd also emptied my travel mug, and there wasn't much more water in the toilet's reservoir. So I couldn't stay here even if I had found food.

The void in my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten in a while.

But I couldn't go out there without taking the time to think things through. To get things organized. I'd kill for a whiteboard and marker.

Well, not kill. But have stern words and a good glare, at least.

However, I did have the next best thing; a notebook and pens.

I fished them from my backpack, propped up the flashlight on the side of the bath, and sat down to think things through.

I wrote 'Me' at the top of the first empty page, then added 'Others' halfway down.

The following page was split between the 'Implants' and 'Mindcontrol'. 'Ruins' and 'Survival' followed on the third page, and the fourth was divided between 'Kidnappers' and 'Fortress City of Alkmaar'.

On the fifth page, I wrote HUNT, GROW, SURVIVE.

Instantly, I felt a bit better. I'd probably add other things later, expand it, or whatever, but these eight categories allowed me to start splitting what was happening into logical lists. I then started adding things I'd heard or puzzled out up until now.

Beneath 'Me', I added 'Kidnapped', 'Experimented on', then to what the doctor said about me after his examination; 'Triple or Quad potential', 'Tine two', and 'very slow integration.'

Under 'Others', I added 'Saw Reae, Ron, and Alice after the leader's speech.' I also added 'Saw Ben after leader's speech.'

Underneath 'Implants', I added two columns: 'Spine Replacement' and 'Arm implant'. Then beneath 'Spine Replacement', I jotted down 'Machinery inside taken after death?' and 'reason??' I left 'Mind control' blank for now. I'd deal with that one a little bit later.

Under 'Ruins', I added 'English textbooks - English speaking city?', 'War?', 'People dead - weeks?', and 'Dead civilians missing back of heads.'

'Survival' I again split into two columns, 'Food', 'Water', and 'Keep Moving' was added in the left column under 'Needs', and under 'Threats', I wrote 'Bugmen - Bloodhound smell? Extreme hearing?'

Like Mind Control, I left the last page with Kidnappers and Fortress City of Alkmaar blank for now.

Turning back to the first page, I looked at the list of 'Me' and added 'Overly emotional?'.

The first thing I needed to do was examine myself. My own state of mind. To make sure I was looking at things from a somewhat objective standpoint, and I had broken down crying more in the last few days than since the breakup. I guess anybody would be emotional after experiencing what had happened to me. Acknowledging that I was more emotional wasn't denying that being emotional was perfectly natural.

Still, there was a man-insect out there that would kill me if I couldn't keep my head on straight. I couldn't break down under a tree if I wanted to live. So acknowledging I was different was vital.

Having a large part of myself cut out and replaced with machinery would probably affect my hormones somehow. I think. That might have been one of the causes of my being more emotional than usual. In any case, I'd have to remember that I might not be my ordinary self.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

I pulled my hand away from the slick metal in my neck when I realized I was fingering it. My ordinary self was a long way from these implants.

Why did they even implant the metal spine?

Ignoring how I felt about all of it -which was a lot easier said than done-it sounded like such a waste.

In his speech, the Leader told us they had taken a million people, and less than half had survived whatever had been done to me. Assuming he spoke the truth, I couldn't imagine the equipment and personnel needed to do this to that many people.

It might have been done over an extended period, but there had been hundreds around me during that speech. So I think we had all been operated on around the same time. That meant that they had enough to handle those hundreds at the same time. And those were less than half of those processed.

Not just that.

There's also the actual process of replacing a spine. The research needed to do that without killing the one you're operating on was beyond anything I'd ever heard of.

Heck, I'd never even heard of a successful prosthetic connecting to nerves. Not that I was interested in that field, but that'd be worldwide news, wouldn't it?

The press would never have kept that story untold. So they'd kept it hidden after all the expenses and manpower they'd have to have used to even invent something like that.

Plus, the kidnappings themselves. I was abducted during a workday from a building on a public street. I think there might have been an explosion, but I'm not sure. In any case, that kind of thing doesn't go unnoticed. And then multiply that by even the hundreds with me during the speech, let alone the million the Leader claimed to have taken...

I could keep going on, but the expenditure of manpower, time, and money for something like this would be mind-boggling. That didn't sound like any private organization or company. That sounded like one of those black-ops government conspiracy things the tinfoil hats ranted about.

However, that didn't make sense either.

They dumped us in a place that had cost at least one of us his life after implantation. No surveillance, as far as I could see. No support to help us survive. Well, not counting the stupid honking sword, Kineblade, he called it? So most had no support. We were just tossed out as if we were week-old leftovers.

So why? There has to be a reason. Nobody would expend resources in this way without a purpose.

I noticed I was fingering the metal in my neck again and stopped.

The spine. It had to be the reason. It was the only logical conclusion.

It was another assumption, but nothing else I could come up with made sense. The speech the Leader gave could have been utter bullshit. That meant that in that scenario, the spine was the only logical result of some kind of massive experiment.

If his speech was nothing but the unvarnished truth, it made it even more apparent that the spine was the reason if you thought it through.

'The way back to your birthplace only has enough power to transport the first thousand of you. If you aren't one of them, you will not return and will die here,' the Leader had said.

There wouldn't even be a reason to implant hundreds of thousands if you only wanted the strongest thousand. All you'd have to do was look at the most athletic and muscular ones.

I'd be entirely overwhelmed by Ben, for instance.

But he hadn't said 'strongest.' He'd said 'the first thousand.' That had to have something to do with more than luck. So it had to be with the spine. Or being smart. But I considered myself average, so if it was that kind of strength, I was screwed anyway.

And then why implant a spine? You could do an IQ test and get the smartest instead of wasting resources implanting the less Einsteiney.

So, to keep my sanity and the hope that I could live through this, I'd assume the spine makes you powerful.

The question is then simple; How does it do that?

I'd understood what they meant even when they were speaking Dutch. I'd known what they were saying without ever learning the language. Soooo… The spine turns you into a walking talking universal translator to… help people understand each other?

No, that's just plain stupid.

I'd also wanted the insectman to go away when it came close. Then I screamed at it without making a sound. And it left. Whatever I did, I felt something burning in my head, the capillaries in my eyes burst, and I passed out a bit later. Same thing with me fighting back against glass hand in after the doctor's examination.

How did that happen?

Obviously, the spine made me psychic.

I snorted. Yea, we entered sci-fi fantasy territory there.

Still, couldn't it be science? Could there be some kind of transmitter in my spine that sent radio waves or something the insect picked up on? And what about glass-hand? Was that transmitter fighting transmitter? I hadn't seen what had happened there, so I didn't know why glass-hand had stopped.

Ok, focus on what you've seen; the bug left.

I wracked my mind for anything that I might remember about insects. They used smells to communicate, I think. I also remembered something about how scientists had controlled insects with implanted electrodes a few years ago, but radio waves?

Only in bad science fiction hero movies.

Precisely the same place you would find a working prosthetic spine replacement. So it might be possible. But just beyond what's known to the public.

I added 'Radio transmitter?' under both 'Me' and 'Mind Control', then added '??!Psychic?!?' after some hesitation.

Turning towards the page with 'Kidnappers', I wrote 'Immense resources', 'hierarchical structure, 'advanced medical technology', 'high tech armour', and 'Governmental or Corporation?'

So how does all that affect me and my situation?

It didn't change much. Or anything. I needed to get food, more water, and to keep moving. I might possibly, maybe, sort of, have a weapon that made bugs go away but also was tiring enough to almost knock me unconscious.

Not very useful unless I'm already somewhere I can be knocked out and stay safe. So not useful at all. Maybe I could test it out at some point in a safe-ish scenario.

I'd keep it in mind.

For now, I'd need a direction to head in. And some sort of long-term plan. The Fortress city of Alkmaar was an obvious choice. If I believed the Leader. If I didn't… Shit. This way, I'd be second-guessing everything and sitting in the dark until I starved, so… Alkmaar.

Where the hell was Alkmaar? For that matter, where the hell am I?!

I looked at the empty space under the 'Fortress City of Alkmaar' header and jotted down 'Get Map'. I don't think I've ever missed my phone and internet as much as I did at that moment.

With it, I'd have looked up survival strategies and tactics to survive in disaster zones. Check on prosthetics research. Anything about the disappearance of hundreds of thousands of people. Anything about where I was now and where I had to go.

Look up what happened at work. What happened to the others

I'd call Mum and Jo. They were probably worried sick about me.

Come on, Metallospine. I really want to connect to the internet… No? Nothing?

Shit

Ok. Food. Water. Move. Map. Information. Things I can focus on.

***

Ghosting from ruin to ruin, I had continued looking for the things on my list after I'd finally cobbled together enough courage to leave the bathroom a few hours before.

After a few wrecked buildings that didn't even yield a filled toilet reservoir, it became apparent that the houses had been picked over reasonably well.

I probably wasn't the first one scavenging for food and water here.

I'd found more of the bodies I mentally filed under 'residents'; they wore clothes that I'd consider 'almost normal' for a residential area. The most part came from the additional buttons the clothes had -no zippers, which was strange-.

Even considering I had the most rudimentary fashion sense of all my friends, the clothes to me looked like what you'd wear on a typical day. Whatever had happened here had caught everyone by surprise.

It had also been a while ago. I think. I don't know how quickly a person decomposes -nor do I really want to, but they smelled horrible. After the back of their heads had disappeared, what had been left was dried out. Or had some kind of fungus growing in it.

I also found seven more who had been like me. Metalbacks? Ironhides? Most smelled terrible as well, but not as bad as the residents had. They looked a lot fresher. They did have different wounds, though. I saw burns, cuts, and what I think would be blunt trauma.

This was all just a best guess: thankfully, my experience with corpses was limited to the last few days. None of the Metalbacks had fungus growing on them, at least. So that means fresher, right?

They all looked similar to the one I'd already found and examined. Their heads were gone, and the spine had been ripped open. Whatever machinery had been in there was gone.

Looking for buildings that hadn't been raided for supplies, I cut through a few gardens and crossed streets to get some distance from where I had arrived. Appeared. Whatever.

After a few more hours, I found another two intact toilets with full reservoirs, drank my fill, and filled my travel mug again. It was in an almost wholly demolished house I finally found something that could be called food.

A can of 'That Hit the Spot' dog food.

The label showed a bowl of meaty chunks with green and orange bits mixed in being eaten by a Dalmatian. If I'd not had my last meal more than two and a half days ago, I'd of thrown it out on general principle because of the name alone.

As it was, I almost did regardless. I didn't think I'd be able to eat dog food. I put it in my backpack anyway. It might come in handy for something.

***

When dusk set in, I had crossed another three streets and checked five more ruins.

I hadn't found any more food or a secure place to rest. Instead, I had come across the remains of a toilet with a half-full reservoir and a few almost intact walls. I squeezed myself beneath the bathroom door after propping it up against the remains of one of the walls.

I had passed the hungry stage yesterday and wasn't plagued by it constantly, but every time I drank, my stomach woke up again. It started cramping up something fierce, and I'd also had more than a few moments of lightheaded wooziness during the day.

I don't think I've ever been without food for so long, and I knew I couldn't continue like this. That thought is what clinched it for me. I needed to eat, and the only food I had was dog food unless I was going to start eating trees, flowers, or grass.

I had scavenged a few utensils during the day. I took a spoon and the dog food out of my backpack. The can was easy enough to open. A tab I pulled up, and with a bit of pressure, the top of the can came loose.

The smell of the can's contents hit me like a slap in the face, and I almost threw it out then and there. It was beyond vile. The processed meaty smell, mixed with whatever aromas dogs apparently liked, assaulted my nose.

The chunks of mystery meat were enmeshed in some gooey jelly, and I could see half-mushy peas and overcooked bits of carrot.

The vegetables looked less substantial than the gelatin, which was probably the only thing keeping them from disintegrating completely.

I swallowed back watery bile.

After a lot of internal hemming and hawing, I stopped procrastinating and forced myself to choke the stuff down.

It was as squishy and gooey as it had looked. Slimy in the worst way. It felt like what I imagine choking down half-digested vomit felt like.

It tasted even worse.

Even an hour later, after repeatedly rinsing my mouth, I could still taste it. I had to continuously keep swallowing to keep me from emptying my stomach, but I had emptied the can.

I had eaten.

Like Gloria, I would SURVIVE. Then I would HUNT and GROW.