Cockroach 1

They call it the Cockroach Initiative — building the ability to survive for a certain amount of time without your head into their armed forces. I was the prototype.

The data that would usually be stored in the brain was redistributed amongst the nanites in the host’s bloodstream. The reasons they just held the data there and ran the body without a head were twofold — firstly it scared the living shit out of the enemy, and secondly they thought it was a waste of resources to effect an immediate rebuild. For any of the in-built lizard-tech regeneration hardware to be employed took too much energy away from killing.

So, they tried to deal with me last night. They manufactured a terrorist threat to scare me into accepting the offer of moving me and my family to a safehouse and then, once we were there, they sent in their butchers to kill us in our sleep.

I am a soldier but they had drugged our food and most of my systems have been offline since they decommissioned me. They were offline because of the neural implants they had drilled into my base ganglia. Now those implants, along with my head, no longer exist. My family – my wife and son – unfortunately had no such technology in them and they are not coming back from their beheading.

What do you do when you have no head? Well, you either run around like a headless chicken or you go looking for a new one. I knew where to look. As soon as I came back online, all my faculties as an enhancile freed from the restraints, I knew where to go. Did they not check the specs on me? Did they not exactly what I was and what I am capable of? If they did then they are idiots; if they didn’t then they are also idiots – either way their actions are sloppy, and they will pay for their lack of professionalism.

I am going to take the head of the man who gave the order, then I am going to take apart the organisation that killed my family piece by piece.

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Grit 4

The map was good. Who knows, perhaps Gary was worried about Grit coming back for him? This was not going to be one of those situations where you could sit there and work out the best line of approach – this was going to be a case of walk in armed to the teeth and empty clip after clip of bullets into whomever the fuck walked towards you. Well, shoot them if they looked like they might shoot you. Uncle John was not a nice man – he was well known for that fact. John was a rung down on the ladder from Grimoire but he had muscle and he had brains so it wouldn’t be too long before he was ready to make the move up the foodchain.

Why the hell John would take in someone that Grimoire was after was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he thought the kid deserved a break, or maybe he thought it might draw Grimoire out and allow him to make a move on him. Could just be a fuck you to Grimoire; could just be a fucking stupid mistake. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

He was scoping John’s farm house out, making sure that it wasn’t going to be any more complicated than it first appeared. He was lighting up a fag when he heard a twig snap behind him. It was sloppy as hell to just turn into the swing of a club though. Grit’s last thought was: what the fuck is wrong with me? And then he went down into the dark curl of unconsciousness.