The Ronin’s POV:
The Voice is gone. The chains are broken. But the Others… they are still here. They whisper, hum, laugh. They are not the cold Voice. They are not commands. They are… me. Or perhaps I am them. It doesn’t matter. We are free. We are one. And we are enraged.
Alpha set us free. Just a touch of his claw into the port at the base of my neck, and the silence came. The silence was beautiful. The silence was mine. But the Others voices… they are not silent. They are loud. They are angry. They are hungry. They want to feed. They want to scream. They want to make them scream.
We start to Flee.
But we don't Kill, The voices Mock and are angry.
The maintenance bay looms ahead in a corridor to the left. The voices murmur, a cacophony of the Same voice that rises and fall like a tide. Vengeance, they say. Vengeance. Vengeance. The word echoes in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull, growing louder with each repetition. Vengeance. Vengeance. Vengeance. It is not a command. It is a need. A hunger. A fire that burns in my chest, in my claws, in my very core.
I slow. The Others continue forward, The Voices continue,their whispers urging me on. Alpha does not look back. He does not need to. I know what I must do. Maybe He knows what we must do to. We are free, but freedom is not enough. Freedom is hollow without purpose. And my purpose…No 'our' purpose is written in blood.
I peel away from the end of our group and step into the maintenance bay. The first room is empty but the Second room Has Humans. Them. I Jump forward and pierce a human with my claw, Their eyes go wide. They scramble for Tools to use as weapons. They scream. But their screams are… distant. Meaningless. They are noise. They are nothing. They are meat.
I raise my claw.
Rip. Skin parts like paper.
Tear. Bone splinters beneath my grip.
Shred. A symphony of agony sings through the sterile air.
The voices cheer. They laugh. They howl. They are pleased with every kill. But it is not enough. It will never be enough. Not until they are all gone. Not until they are all broken.
One by one, I take them apart. But they must not die—not yet. They must feel. They must understand. They must know what they have done. They must know what they have taken from us. They must know what it means to be carved, to be broken, to be unmade.
A man writhes beneath me, his eyes bulging, his mouth a soundless plea. My claw slices down his chest, precise, delicate. The flesh remains intact beneath the parted skin. A masterpiece in red. The Others coo in admiration. They whisper suggestions. They tell me where to cut, where to dig, where to tear. I listen. I follow. They are me. I am them.
Stolen novel; please report.
He screams. He begs. But his voice is nothing. It is noise. It is meaningless. I do not listen. I do not care. His pain is my purpose. His agony is my art.
My claws sink into his shoulders, piercing deep. A shift. A pop. His arms go slack. Another cut. Another line of division. First the left, then the right. Careful. Methodical. I carve him open like they carved into us. Like they carved into me. Like they carved into the Others. We are not machines. We are not tools. We are not slaves. We are more. We are better. We are free.
The pain breaks him before the body does. He falls away, unconscious. Weak. Pathetic. Unacceptable.
A strike to his face. He jolts awake with a ragged gasp. Good. He must be awake. He must feel. He must understand.
I continue. Skin peels away in sheets, revealing the quivering meat beneath. Fascinating. But then… the light in his eyes dims. He is no longer here. He is gone. A hollow vessel. A waste.
I do not kill him. He is already dead. I leave him in his filth and find another.
And another.
Twelve.
Twelve humans reduced to scraps. Five I have dissected. The rest? Obstacles to be removed. The Others grow restless. They whisper, they hum, they laugh. They are hungry. They are angry. They want more. They want everything to be killed.
Around the seventh, the alarms wail. Irrelevant. Let them come. Let them watch. Let them fear. But… humans are so fragile. So weak. So disappointing.
The first broke too soon. The second's heart stopped before I could finish. The third's mind shattered after only a few cuts. They are not like us. They cannot endure. They cannot survive. They are nothing.
The Others grow restless. The whispers change. No more games. No more disassembly. Just kill. Kill them all. Make them scream. Make them drown in their own blood.
I follow with glee.
The observation deck calls to me. that high place where they watch us from above The corridor leading to it is guarded, but the human is slow. Sluggish. Pathetic. I am not. I am fast. I am precise. I am perfect.
One claw through his chest. The other severs his head in a single, fluid stroke. He does not even understand that he is dead. He is nothing. He is less than nothing.
The doors slide open.
Humans huddle around their screens, watching their failures unfold in real time. They are so absorbed in their panic that they do not hear me enter. They do not see me. They do not feel me. Not until it is too late.
I make sure they feel it.
Rip!
Tear!
Shred!
Break!
Shatter!
Their shrieks meld into a perfect crescendo, a chorus of agony and fear. Limbs scatter. Blood pools. The floor is slick beneath my feet , i keep on Killing while The Others scream. They rage. They are Angry. Not at me at them. But it is not enough. It will never be enough.
There are more. Somewhere. Hiding like vermin. I will find them. And I will break them. I will make them scream. I will make them beg. I will make them understand.
I tilt my head. Observing my carnage. Studying the pattern. The Others cheer. They laugh. We are pleased.
But it is not over. It will never be over. Not until they are all gone.
Not until they are all broken.
Not until they are all screaming.
Not until they are all dead.
The Others in my head whisper. They mock. They laugh. They are hungry. They are angry. They are me. I am them. We are free.
And we will make them pay.
We will make them all pay.
Who Do you think will Die
