Perfect Soldier: THE THREAD.

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Yiyel

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You awaken in a relatively comfy cot in what appears to be a small tent. In your somnolent haze, you think you can make out a few words that a shrilly voice are throwing at you : "Hello? ...hear me? You - ...ted to be- ...remember who you are?"
 
White noise, and a vision full of white. That was all he heard and saw when he woke up, struggling to raise his arm to shield his eyes from the light. It took him a little while to get accustomed to his conditions, but once he had, he finally managed to process what little he'd heard the shrill voice say. As much as he wished to, he couldn't do more than grunt or groan to indicate his feelings. he was still rather groggy, and incapable of complete sentences. He looked about, confused and dazed, obviously unable to remember anything immediately. Whether he did remember anything else remained to be seen.
 
The minimum amount of response was deemed unsatisfactory by whatever was there - and as such, he could feel his bed vibrating a little while a large shadow slowly placed itself over him - if he could focus, he could see it was a large metallic device with a large amount of tiny holes in it, and a slightly chilly wind came from it. The shrill voice was back - if he was now awake enough, he could probably hear the slight gristle and distortion typical of an intercom system. "Number- ...do you understand me? I need you to- ...up and answer a few questions. Failure to- ...result in- ...wer."
 
He shook his head to clear it, and managed to gain some semblance of focus. He was still subject to a throbbing headache and a little bit of ringing in his ears, but he was at least coherent now.
"Where am I?" He asked, somewhat slurred, but still understandable. "What's going on?"
He looked about the room, but failed to see anything of particular interest. It was this that piqued his, though. He was awake enough to process the fact that the bareness of the room was worrying, and the white around him certainly didn't make it look like some sort of prison.
 
The intercom flared back to life with that high-pitched, screechy voice. "Relax. You're not in danger or anything. Do you remember who you are, 52?" Having looked around the room, he could now see clearly the intercom - it looked oldish but in perfect condition, with a nice chrome finish which half-contrasted with the room's white. If he was listening well enough - and focused enough - he could hear whispers from the intercom saying something to the effect of "We should try working on the wake-up time and the environment difference detection..."
 
52 rubbed his head, and tried to recollect the relevant information.
"I... I remember something. Something about genetics. Someone told me about a super soldier program. That's me, right? Am I the test subject?"
His memory was a bit hazy, and he supposed it was entirely possible that he was wrong. But he still had snippets of a rather shady conversation stuck in his mind, and even if they tried to erase it from his memory, some of it would still make it through.
 
The intercom was silent for what felt like an eternity in his state of haze. "No. You are not a test subject. While you are right that this had to do with genetics, the goal is not to make a super soldier. Do you remember WHO you are though?" As if it wanted to aid him, the room's walls slowly shifted from sterile white to a mellow honey yellow with soft, relaxing orange patterns on it.
 
The walls didn't particularly help - if anything, the colour shift was more distracting than anything else. At least the stark blankness of the walls before had allowed him to keep his mind as clear as he could. nevertheless, he strained his mind, attempting to recall some details about himself.
"My name... My name is Slim Shady Richard. Richard Drake. Is that what you wanted?"
 
The voice, while still shrill, sounded a bit more enthusiastic, before losing it before the end of the sentence. "Yes, yes! Now, how much can you move? Do you feel anything different?"
 
"I feel... Better. I can't really describe it. I still feel like me, but a better me. Fitter. Stronger."
Richard flexed his fingers, something to try and see if he was still functioning properly. He found that he was, but didn't relax. He hardly could, given the current situation.
 
"Perfect. Now please get up and enter the pod. The training is going to begin." As the voice said that, a previously unseen door opened, leading into another smallish room that looked like a comfortable log cabin.
 
Silently, Richard obeyed. It wasn't that he wanted to -he just had gut feeling that this was probably the best course of action. The room he emerged into provided quite the transition - not one that he was particularly comfortable with. nevertheless, he stood there, waiting for instructions.
 
A small rack with a plethora of small arms - combat knives, small pistols, machine pistols and the such- and a strange jumpsuit came up locked behind a glass locked by a fingerprint scanner. The room felt awful strange though; like he wasn't alone at all.
 
Richard put his finger hesitantly on the scanner, observing the contents of the case as he did so. What caught his attention most - once he'd shaken off the discomfort deep in his gut - was the jumpsuit. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. Which was precisely why he was suspicious about it.
 
The jumpsuit only was unlocked by this act. The room changed to a dark red shade. "You'll get access to the weapons once you put it on."
 
Richard looked the jumpsuit over - it certainly wasn't something you'd see on a catwalk, he knew that much. Richard struggled into it, but eventually, he managed to fit into it. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but he supposed that was something he'd get used to. He was more focussed on the array of weapons, anyway.
 
Once the jumpsuit was on, two subsequent clicks were heard - one at his neck, and the other at the lock of every other cases, giving him access to all the weapons. "Pick whatever suits you. You won't need to worry about ammunition, they're all using the final prototype firing mechanism of a new laser-type weapon. You'll be provided with a new capacitor for them every room."
 
"Right..."
Richard, against his better judgement, rubbed his neck. it wasn't as if he particularly cared about the click at it. He supposed he didn't really want to know. He just went with what they said, trying to get by to get out as quickly as possible. When he was faced with a selection of small arms, he instinctively went with a standard combat knife and a semi-automatic pistol. Not the most exciting of weapons, but he wasn't in it for fun. he needed weapons that were accurate and reliable - revolvers had too much kick for his tastes, and he couldn't keep automatic weapons on targets for toffee. Even with quick bursts, he knew his aim was unreliable.
 
On his neck, he could feel a firm collar - that seemed to hold a little box - present. As he grabbed the weapons, a door opened where he entered from, and a wave of moist air smelling of petrichor rushed in, assaulting his nostrils.
 
Initially, Richard recoiled at the sudden shift in the room's smell. While the smell itself was not unpleasant, it was the abruptness of it that got to him. Taking the initiative, Richard walked through the door, and awaited further instructions.
 
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