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A young wolf was born. Owing no harm to anyone. His mother, or lack thereof I suppose, was just a face in the crowd to him. Hired by the 'Gents to carry a child and paid a vast sum for it. She was gone from his life before the check cleared. Raised with a gun in one hand a knife in the other, he quickly became the lead of the child unit, A true government project since conception. His proficiency for battle saw him through many a storm, until one day he found he himself had become the thunder. Disillusioned with his own past, he left the military life by way of abandonment.
For a whole day.
You see, best they had or not when a couple of angry 'Gents have you cornered, you aren't going anywhere, their tech was light years ahead. By all accounts they beat his ass into submission, using their gel sticks. Well that's what he called them anyway. When they held the floppy things they resembled... well.. ladies personal . massagers... yeah, those.. And trigger laughed at first. Then he was hit with one. When coming into contact with a solid object they stiffened into what felt like iron bars. Poetic justice I suppose. Unfortunately that solid object they were beating was Trigger's face and body. By the time he got back to the base he was broken and bloody, though that wasn't anything new to him. What was however were the injections. Before he was told to just sleep it off. Now he was being injected with this cloudy silver liquid which looked to have been glitter submersed in oil.
He was now patient zero.
His wounds were already starting to scab over and vanish. Large significant gashes that would take weeks if not a month to heal were now paper-cut scars. A large Bull walked in. Shades on even in this dimly lit little room. The idea of which made Trigger cringe with hatred. You know that guy somewhere. Wearing sunglasses where they ought not be worn. He liked to believe a special circle of hell was reserved for that kind of asshole. But he was in no place to judge. The Bull's dread-locked hair was slicked back in a far more sickening manner, made into a sort of makeshift ponytail. From how the other 'Gents looked at him it seemed he was a pretty high rung on the ladder if not the very top. Seeing Triggers continued disbelief creeping back onto his face from having his wounds disappear by way of what seemed to be Jesus Christ level magic. The Bull said with a "dickish" (according to trigger.) grin "Welcome to the world of nanotech mah' boy, it only gets more fucked up from here,". If Trigger knew the horrific truth to that statement. He'd have put a bullet swiftly between his eyes that same night. For the next couple of weeks he was held in a gray walled room under constant surveillance. Given almost daily injections of these nanomachine strains that always conflicted with the last. Being tuned specifically to his genetic code they were just throwing tacks at a wall to see which ones stuck. His body accepted the first set without conflict because those were made for him he'd later find out. The rest were set to acclimate on their own. Which means before they could help him they'd have to fight him. "Just like the plot of every action anime ever" he laughed to himself, trying to keep his spirits up. Resisting the injections, he found out quickly, was not a fun way to live. They just walked in with the gel sticks, beat him unconscious, injected him, and waited for him to heal. And sometimes beat him again just for the fun of it. No matter what they did to him though it was always fixed in the morning. Finally the injections one day stopped. But the damage was far from over as he'd soon find out. The nano machines needed constant powering. The engineers solution to this was to have them feed off of the glucose stored in fat this means that trigger needed to eat for two because the little bastards consumed as much as a full grown adult. He woke up one morning noticing he didn't need his glasses anymore. Pre-nano he was nearly blind from shrapnel and dust from war-zones. This was remedied by a pair of high tech computer glasses with a targeting computer embedded in the lens. Now he had near telescopic vision and all the reflexes to use it. When bored one day he picked up a leftover pea from dinner, finding the pen he used to fill out countless forms about his "experience". He removed the cap and tossed it into the air the thing seemed to move in slow motion with the other hand he tossed the pea directly into the pen cap sending it flopping across the room. He never tried it again because it creeped him out. These nano's he'd come to learn don't just alter the body, they invade minds. This came with plenty of downsides. The light sensitivity needed for this kind of vision meant every dim candle was now the sun. Any direct light equaled migraine at first. Especially coupled with his second favorite annoyance. His ears now picked up the most discreet noise like it was happening inside them. Have you ever heard the phrase "so quiet you could hear a pin drop" well they tested that on him. That very pin from across the room was now a heavy metal solo rage-fucking his ears. Did you know the body creaks and grinds with every move you make. Simple things like getting out of bed in the morning felt like walking through an industrial complex. And never mind simple conversation. The most timid person was now every angry fast food customer combined into one angry shouting mass of volume, except trade the low quality speakers for the highest quality theater sound. It'd have driven a lesser person mad. But having the unique perspective of growing up under a drill Sargent instead of kind loving parents. Shouting and bright lights were his bread and butter. He past the time making jokes about everything he saw or heard. This kept him sane but left him with a very overactive sense of humor. Which to everyone he came in contact with made him seem like kind of a dick. And then the day came, his second meeting with The Bull. Same suit, same fucking sunglasses, same nasty slicked back dreadlocks. "dick face" trigger thought loudly. If he'd have said anything he'd only be beaten again, and the taste of blood was beginning to piss him off a bit. "Well mah' boy you only have one more injection left, it's a bit of a doozy but I have a multi-trillion dollar investment in that body of yours. So don't die." like he actually could... "This here is self powering, actually they could pro'lly power a small car for jus about fo'evah. This'll power the rest of yer little bugs, so it won't cost so damn much to feed you." he said in his usual mock southern drawl that seemed so overly forced that trigger didn't see the point of even bothering to use it. " but we also added a little something to 'readjust' " (He actually did the little finger quotes, what a dick) "Your body, for combat purposes y'know. Don't worry it's calculated to the ten millionth digit. You'll survive this. It's just gonna really suck" Now completely livid, trigger screwed his face up and managed to get out a "Fuck yo-" and he felt a familiar iron bar collide with the back of his skull. He awoke in his room with two new additions to the floor. Where his bed was now stood two steel rods each coming up a few inches off the ground. Probably drilled 4 feet into the concrete floor due to the rubble lying on the opposite side of the room from him. On top of these rods were rings looking like they were attached when the rods were made. Through the steel rings were bundles of chains each fastened around his own arms and legs. Crap, how long had he been out? And why did they suddenly think he was Jeffery Dahmer? A lone scientist walked in covered in bulletproof armor from head to toe. Was he gonna explode? If so he at least wanted the bull to be in the room. Let's see his sunglasses block that, dickhead. They pulled the same needle they always used. Though this time the glittery stuff had a faint purple glow to it. The skittish man jabbed into his arm and pushed the plunger. He didn't even flinch, being so used to injections at this point. Then Hell apparently came for him. His muscles all torn from his bones at the same time, ligaments ripped to ribbons, expanding, reconstructing, growing. This was the most intense agony he'd ever felt, and he's been shot 15 times. The only thought in his mind was " I miss the gel sticks" thinking this, he emitted the most grotesque sound ever encountered by the onlookers. Their description later painted it as a hearty laugh combined with a bloodcurdling scream. And then, Bliss A sweet blankness far removed from the torment. He felt nothing no more blinding lights, or deafening sounds. No more liquifying muscles. Just peace. When he awoke there were slash marks all over the walls. The floor was just craters. It really looked like he turned into the Tasmanian devil while he slept,the he was back to normal now. But what was the point? A make-triggers-childhood-cartoon-fantasy-come-to-life program seemed like a serious waste of taxpayer money. Over the busted intercom rang out a familiar albeit childishly happy voice. "Well done mah' boy" he paused "You survived"
Trigger is Married as fuck. |
![[Trigger Rush]](img/misc/missing.png)
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