Hell, I can’t even remember the name of my hometown because of what they done to me. I can’t even remember my own @#$£ing name, only that everybody calls me Armoury.
As for what they did to her, Armoury doesn’t know the full details, but has had the misfortune to witness her current appearance at different times.
Her skin is a motley white with a hideous criss-cross of stiches all over the half-dead flesh. Her mouth has been sewn shut while her left eye has been replaced with some red-eye biological contraption that allows her to view things with much more detail than she should be.
Her hair has all been removed along with her nose and ears, the latter having been replaced with some extremely sensitive, but nonvisible alternatives. She also has multiple sets of arms with two more being added below her original pair and a fourth and fifth added to her both shoulders, giving her eight arms in total.
And that is just her exterior appearance as Armoury has no idea of what has been done to her insides.
What I do know is that whatever Hackjob has done to means that I can’t escape or disobey the orders of the Slaughter Seven.
I hate having to serve that monsters. Slaughtering my family and friends, burning down my hometown and turning me into this…this abomination! Stripping me of my freewill as well! And Hackjob didn’t even have the decency to remove my ability to feel pain! Every moment is one of low level pain at best.
She is currently being held captive in the back of a truck on the outskirts of the current city that the Slaughter Seven are going after.
I wonder how long they can last. They have already destroyed over fifty different settlements, including four small cities. At this rate, they are going to run out of people to kill or somebody is going to take them down.
Armoury feels her eyes straying to her current guard, Biokiena. She lacks control over her body, her eyes and limbs moving of their own accord or when controlled by others.
Biokiena is a blonde and blue eyed Aphrodite woman and A Class Biokinetic, able to manipulate her own body and any organic matter in sight completely and utterly.
Armoury glares at Biokiena, analysing her entire body in the process. Eventually Biokiena realises what Armoury is doing and turns her head to look back at Biokiena.
“What are you looking at?” sneers Biokiena.
But Armoury is unable to speak and has been in that position for over a month now.
What I would do to you if I get the chance.
Too bad my power is utterly useless to save me or even extract my vengeance. Instead, all it does is add my tormentors. I can’t believe I have no control over my power now. I would much rather not use it and die than use it and assist these monsters.
Suddenly there are several hisses as energy discharges multiple times outside and the screams of dying creatures, a mixture of Hackjob’s creations and creatures summoned by Demonica.
Biokiena’s head snaps around as she looks at the back of the truck. She prepares for battle, enhancing her body with armour plating and spikes while Armour is certain she is internally improving it as well.
A green tinted grey blade stabs through the side of the truck and into Biokiena’s head. The supervillainess is dead before she can even begin to process what has happened as the blade tears into her brain.
The blade withdraws and Armoury can hear thuds outside as the killer of Biokiena moves outside.
The blade comes down at the lock of the back of the truck, cutting through the lock with ease. The back doors swing open and a moment later, the killer walks in.
Armoury is surprised at the appearance of the new arrival. It is a humanoid robot that looks very crudely built. Its head is curved with no sides of ears or nose. The mouth is a rectangular radio speaker while the right eye is an oval and has a light blue glow to it. The left eye looks like a scope, just barely jutting out and has no lens, but a deep blue glow.
The head and the rest of the body is all armoured in a grey metal with a green tint and Armoury notes it is the same metal as the sword. Speaking of which, the sword is built into the end of the left arm where the hand should be, replacing that part of the body. The right arm has a curved gun built into it with the hand underneath it with only three fingers and one thumb.
The machine approaches her and it raises its sword.
No! I will not die! I will fight!
But try as she might, Armoury cannot fight. She cannot even get her body to respond to the most basic of commands.
With a wordless and entirely internal roar, Armoury feels her power overcharging as the injustice of it all comes crashing down on her as her death is imminent.
She roars as her body changes, reshaping itself, and her power expands and grows, reforging itself into something stronger.
Muscle is replaced with blue, superior techno-organic replacements. Her extra arms before truly hers and her skin is replaced with steely blue plates of smooth, sleek armour. Her head now looks like a featureless helmet except for a set of pure black mechanical eyes.
Now stronger and powerful, over two metres tall with eight arms, Armoury laughs. The sound comes from vocal box beneath her armour-flesh as Armoury has no visible reaction on the outside.
No longer weak or helpless, Armoury snarls as she reaches for her attacker before the robot can strike at her.
But the robot swiftly dodges with ease. Not due to its speed and reflex, which seem to be equal to Armoury’s new own, but with the skill of an experienced veteran born of countless battles. It is now that Armoury realises that armour of robot is covered in old battle scars.
Now the question is whether it can’t repair those or simply chose not to.
“I seek to talk, not battle with you,” says the robot in a mechanical, but slightly cheerful voice,
“Actually I sought to free you, but seems to be no longer necessary.”
“What do you want?” asks Armoury, her new voice a deep, feminine hum.
“Your assistance,” replies the robot, “I will give you a new cause, completely with a new life and purpose.”
Armoury thinks for a moment. She does need a new life.
“I am interested,” answers Armoury.
“Good, for my foes are dangerous and powerful, but must also be stopped,” says the robot.
“It is the Slaughter Seven?” inquires Armoury as she takes in her new appearance.
“No,” answers the robot.
“Let me guess, the Harbingers?” Armoury tries again.
“Not the top priority at the moment,” replies the robot, “Ragnarok is predictable and likes to take things slow. For all his might, he and his pack are not the most dangerous things in this world right now. They are still reeling from recent defeats both physically and mentally.”
“Oh?” says Armoury curiously.
“I will explain in detail later,” says the robot as it motions with its hand, “Now we must deal with the approaching Aquiline.”
Armoury would grin if she still could. She is eager to extract her revenge on her captor.
“He is beaten and his forces are in disarray,” continues the robot.
“How many have fallen to the Slaughter Seven?” asks Armoury.
“Less than two hundred,” answers the robot and Armoury is stunned.
“How can there be so few?” demands Armoury.
“I got a parahuman who goes by the codename Chronicler to keep losses today minimal,” explains the robot without actually explaining.
“Oh,” says Armoury, not understanding, “I am Armoury by the way.”
“Greetings Armoury,” says the robot, “I am GD-G2.”