Sleepless Nights

  There was a time that I considered sleepless nights a curse. Sleep was an escape from the mortal coil. A temporary reprieve from the consciousness that inflicts us all. In sleep there was comfort. Trapped in a state between life and death where the mind powered down and the body allowed itself to recharge, there was little that could disturb me. 

  How long has it been now since the insomnia began? Before the slaughter, that much is certain. Had I still the heart to sleep at that age, I might have been kinder to the man who game me my eyes. Before the surgeries even. These cloudy windows into my soul matched the person I was by that time. Were I not already so drained and broken, how could I be resurrected as Frankenstein's Monster? Perhaps I never truly slept through a night. I only have a dream of sleep. Some artificial concept of human rest. 

  I take a swig of the clear liquid in my glass and feel it burn all the way down my throat. Before it warms my chest there is a pause. My eyes widen a little. Barely perceptible, like a shadow in the dark. Another gulp. This time it flows naturally. Two fingers on the side of my neck confirm the function of my Throa2. I finish the drink and pour out another. The silence that follows is only broken by the endless ticking of an analogue clock in the corner.

  Sleepless nights might actually be a blessing. A ward against the sub-conscious that lays in wait, coiled and poised with venomous fangs. A face flashes through my mind. It had been so long ago, so insignificant that it hardly mattered. Glowing green eyes. Wild brown hair. That cat-like grin that had flashed in the dark of night. Those green goggles that allowed him to see in the pitch. The mocking voice that had goaded me on. The claws that sliced into my flesh, time and time again. Business as usual and not something I'd committed to memory... consciously at least. It was a face that I had come to recognize in recent weeks. Always grinning, ever mischievous and full of life. The same one I had seen shaking in fear earlier today.

  "He isn't angry anymore FuuFuu-chan. He made steaks to apologize."

  "Kyoudai, come on, we're putting on a movie."

  "Fuu-chan, he shouldn't have stolen your weapon. Come out and let's hang."

  The final knock on my door was just that. A knock. No sound of footsteps coming or going. No words to the monster that had slammed him against the ground and very nearly drove a fist through his chest. Someone had likely forced him to knock at all. They always come to see it eventually. What I am. What I'll never be.

  My eyes focus on the Netjack, carefully placed on the desk along with a bottle of gin. It wasn't a weapon, not really. A tool, rather, for shutting down electronic devices. No human could be hurt by it, and it was unlikely anyone outside of my own timeline would be able to connect to the neural network and activate it. That mocking smile while he flipped it through the air so nonchalantly. He had no idea what it was he played with. Just how much damage it could do in the wrong hands. Already had in the dark future that was my neon past. I'd seen that image before. A phantom thief with a deadlier weapon than he could possibly understand. I acted accordingly.

  Only the name he screamed as my fist plunged through the air snapped me out of it. Where had I heard that name before? Why did the Phantom Thief say that name? It wasn't until I fell asleep that it all finally came together. The same name, across two timelines. The same face with a different name. The same weapon performing its function.

  It stayed with me on some level despite all the lies I tell myself. Lifted me out of the memory I was buried in. I drain the glass of gin once more and tip an empty bottle uselessly over the vessel. Just another mission completed by Legatus 505. Alcohol was another way to find escape from consciousness. Easier to obtain than sleep. Less toxic with a history like mine.

  I stand, staggering a little and bracing myself on the wall for support. I feel weak. Human. Not the monster I was made to be. It felt similar in the dream. Covered in blood from head to toe. Missing one arm and with well aimed incisions at vital spots. The cat's claws had done their work. 

art by 4十枫: https://twitter.com/4Shifeng/status/1512264664821944345

  Finger tips move to my spine and feel the metal there, bulging out against the fabric of my shirt. The soft glow radiating from them illuminates the red and black of my hand before I pull it away. It doesn't hurt anymore. I tore out all the parts that hurt. You won't find me screaming out names in panic.

  Who would I even call to at this point? Even in another time where there are no battles to be fought or loved ones to be avenged, I'm still just a machine. Now I don't even have a purpose. No legatio to spur me forward and fend off the coiled serpent. I grab the empty bottle and make my way to the door, opening it for the first time in 2 days. 

  -thud-

  I jump back in alarm, bottle raised at the ready. IIs flash from corner to corner anticipating another IED.

...

  The phantom thief is curled up in a ball, clearly having rested against my door. Even falling down to the floor as the door opened hadn't awoken him from his slumber, face now collapsed in a mess of cold steak and asparagus. 

  "Tch~"

  A soft chuckle, more exhalation than laugh escapes my lips. 

  "Stupid cat. ...Let's get you to bed."