Noemi

FL/GHT DESIGNATION: MEDIC.

Mate: Program

E-- E-- E--

There are flashes of war and fighting, there are clatters and snarls and claws and teeth--
Sometimes, they feel like distant dreams and they are so easily erased. Memories are files and just like files, they can be so very easily deleted.

But there are imprints in her DNA that go deeper than being deleted.
That quiet niggle at every turn when her own maw of steel is set to her enemies or when perfectly crafted talons that were no longer her own rendered flesh from another’s form; it tells her ‘This is Wrong. Incorrect. These claws were not set for murder. Remember--’

Err-- Er-- E-- E--

“Subject N03-M1, Day 275 of procedural upgrade at Project facility 7-D5. The subject had shown exemplary signs of adapting to new circuit breakers and Reactionary Emotional suppressants. Previous mission was marked as success with only minor damage to alloy and body works--”

Lights flicker and augmented eyes shift downwards to the chittering Spiral that coiled eagerly with notes in hand; scanning N03-M1’s form with ravenous glee. The words were endless with seeming no pause of a break for air but the Guardian had long been desensitized to such annoyances. Her programming allowed only for primary and secondary objectives--

It allowed only for obedience.
Obedience that had led a naive medic once, whose scales glimmered the deepest amethyst and eyes the softest hue of pink to friend and foe alike, to the belly of corruption too deep that even her heart did not guide her back.

If that dragon was alive, NO3-M1 pondered if she would be horrified by what would become of her. Months of… upgrades, of changes and surgeries until they were no longer considered surgery but mere routine replacement.

She wondered---

Err-- ERRO. O. O. O. O.

“Get up! You have to get up! Please!” She cries, distress laces her tone as wounds are pressed unto despite the blood seeping endlessly across the withering grass.

There lay her Charge.
Still.

Her only Charge.
Her reason for living--

ERRR--- ZzZTT-- ROORRRRR---

He is dying.

ERROR. ERROR.

And then, just as easily as the pain comes---
It goes and the memories are gone from her system; just a ghost that flickers around and causes an unnatural twitch or jolt.

So the scientists say as they remove flesh for fiber and muscle for metal.
It has been so long since she last felt the sun upon true skin and the warmth of a caring smile but those, like much else, are nothing more than stored data now.

“--Nother fluctuation in her power core but nothing a hard reboot can’t fix.”

“--’ne. I need it battle ready for--”

The darkness comes and forces sleep.
It is peaceful if not for the painful awakening that always comes; a sharp shock of systems kicking to life with a new objective that must be fulfilled. Limbs move automatically and N03-M1 does not question.

Never questions, only obeys.
This is the nature of a machine and why it is her job to be tasked with staining prosthetic limbs in blood. She doesn't feel the guilt nor ache of her crimes.

She only ever obeys.

There is a job to be done and it is her mission to complete it regardless of the cost.

ERROR. R. Em SUPPRESSOR AT 67% FUNCTIONALITY.

Each step is a scream of metal against metal that fluidly jolts from one prosthetic limb to another. She is not quiet but that is not her function; she only needs to find her target and eliminate them.

The intelligence core is fast to scan and faster to locate the target; a ridgeback female of dark black skin, the ripple of lightning blue standing stark over her form. There are scars over this warrior, the signs of success and yet, a weight rests behind her eyes of horrors unspeakable.

It is familiar and her data banks race to recall it but the identity of this individual is already in her files. The individual is her Target and nothing more but--

It is… so close.

ERROR. R. Em SUPPRESSOR AT 51% FUNCTIONALITY.

“Kyven--- Kye!” She is screaming now, her medical bag clutched tight under her wing and her form resting close to the deceased Ridgeback that had fallen far too soon for his time and left a rift beyond filling in her chest. The tears welled fast and hot down her cheeks, following the crevices of her scales. “Please--- Get up!”

He was gone and she had failed in her duty to protect him as both her Charge and as a medic. What was she now without him?

ERROR. R. Em SUPPRESSOR AT 24% FUNCTIONALITY. REPAIR REQUESTED.

N03-M1 stands still.

ERROR. R. Em SUPPRESSOR AT 12% FUNCTIONALITY. URGENT REPAIR REQUESTED. FAILURE IMMINENT.

There had always been cracks in the dam, patched with more and more synthetic material until she could no longer distinguish herself from any other androids or AI that were sent upon their tasks.

There were always cracks and now the dam had burst--
The waters came flooding, emotions swimming back and she was drowning in them.

A guttural cry fell from her maw, nails on a chalkboard as artificial vocal chords warp and twist in manners that they were never made to do and for the first time in so very long, she wept openly though no tears did fall to her manufactured cheeks.

There was so much of it--
There was so much to feel and it was suffocating.

ERROR. ERROR. UNIT COMPROMISED. DEFECT IDENTIFIED.

Her head hit the ground and metal dug into metal as she sought to cease the screaming, to quieten the sorrow and anguish and anger that coursed the wires and tubes through her cased form.

“N-N-N-N-N-NNNNNNN--- AA--A-A-A--” Her claws scraped against her head, denting and damaging the casing as she desperately attempted to dig the ‘virus’ out of her system.

Broken.
She was broken--

There was only one thing that happened to damaged unit’s such as herself. She had seen it so many times before and a panicked drive of long forgotten emotions surged her into action. Clumsily, she bounded to the air; fled with an echoing discourse of clashing machinery.

UNIT COMPROMISED. DEFECT IDENTIFIED. TERMINATION REQUEST? Y/N

“Heal. Heal. Heal. H-H-H-Help.” Words were forced and spat, jarring, fragmented. Memories stirred and rose head, hissing with such vigour that N03-M1 had no choice but to listen.

To remember.

TERMINATION REQUEST? Y/N

Y/N?

Y/N?

“Is this the unit that was spotted?” A foreign voice breaks the low thrum of the storm across her circuitry.

A shadow is cast over her, larger and darker. Imperial?

She could hardly tell. There was too much damage to her optic circuits now to make out more than static and noise save for the occasional clear glimpse of her surroundings. This virus was set deep and her fate was sealed.

“Affirmative.” A second voice. Unidentifiable.

The first voice greets the air again, calm and soothing. “What’s your name? Designation? Are you critically injured?”

“Name-...”

Name…?
She had… a name once. What… was it?

“No- No- No...emi.” A name was a name and hers had been chosen long ago. However, her claws and teeth had done… enough damage. She did not require them for further bloodshed and the sight of them left such phantom sensations of sickness. “Des-- Designation: H-Healer. Damage non-fatal, as-assistance requested.”

“You are among friends now, we can assist you.”

TERMINATION REQUEST? Y/N

Y/N