“Again.” Talon commanded the man near the wall behind him, “Make it faster.”

The range safety officer stammered slightly. “Faster? But…but…” The man could hardly believe his ears. The teen wanted the range equipment to be faster, unheard of at this point. He took a moment to choose his words carefully out of fear of the dragon’s reaction. Everyone knew what he did, no one forgot how much blood someone like him could spill. “The system is already at its limit. Any more and the servos may fail!”

“I don’t care!” the teen growled. “Push it more or I’ll find something more alive to shoot!” He glared at the RSO, the look in his eyes suggesting the man may become the target. The dragon’s sharp vision noticed the man swallow hard before turning his attention to the range controls. There were a couple clicks and beeps that could be heard as the man disabled the safety overrides. Talon couldn’t hurt the man, technically. Friendly fire in any form was illegal, and the last thing he wanted was to have Archer in his face again like what he did when Talon socked him in the gut. He had been in so much trouble and Archer and returned Talon’s blow 20 times over, which the teen’s mind never let him forget. The RSO counting down drew Talon’s mind back on task.

The little interface by Talon’s side was synchronized with the range. Talon had used it to control the range, but the safety measures had now stopped such things, thus the need for the RSO. Subject 1276 was using a Remington 700 that was modified to take both .308in and 7.62mm and had a custom stock and magazine. However, the magazine was currently empty, the subject forced to load each shot by hand. It took skill, speed, and a mastery of coordination. The interface had 3 beeps left and Subject 1276 started to prepare himself. The first beep sounded and the dragon opened the rifle’s bolt. The second arrived, a round was placed into ejection port and the bolt closed, driving and locking the cartridge into the chamber. The final beep, the very last second of peace as the sniper drew in a quick yet calm breath. Then, a brief siren blast – that was only tuned out by the focused teen – signaled the start of the range course. The first target was up within milliseconds; it and its siblings only staying up for one second at most. It was a relatively far shot, near the back of the range, and required perfect control to hit. But, the added pressure was the extremely small window of time the shooter had to acquire the target; a window that was even shorter due to the bullet’s travel time.

For Talon, the milliseconds ticked by like minutes thanks to his enhanced nervous system. He had speed, he had control; that gave him time. It was time that he luxuriated in. Within ten milliseconds, the project subject had lined up the crosshairs on the target, smoothly pulled the trigger, and sent a round rocketing toward the plywood-backed target. He still had another 900 milliseconds on the lifetime of that target, which he used to open the bolt of his rifle and prepare the next shot. The ejector clicked and Talon watched as the empty casing flew, spinning and billowing a light trail of smoke, out of the rifle in slow motion. He picked up another cartridge and fed it into the chamber. To an outside observer, the teen’s motions were a blur. Four-hundred milliseconds, the bolt closed, and soon the sniper was ready once again. At the two-hundred-millisecond point, the next target popped up; closer in distance and to the far right of the first. Again, he quickly sighted in the target, and put just enough pressure in the trigger to trip the firing pin and send the next bullet down range. Just as Talon had expected, he hit the exact center of the bullseye. The third target, though, seemed to only half deploy. Still, the dragon took the shot anyway, hitting the target on the head of the silhouette. However, the target didn’t move back to its inactive state. Subject 1276 racked in another round and was about to fire again when the error noise finally pierced his ears along with the hit marker.

The teen let out a growl and got up from his prone position, glaring at the RSO as if he had something to do with it. The man held up his hands submissively. “Hey, I told you that it’d break.”

The dragon didn’t hear a word the man said as he dropped his equipment and lunged on the human, pinning him against the wall with a snarl. All he saw was a world painted in red. Part of him wanted this: to snuff out the weakness he saw; it would be easily done. The other half of him watched behind his eyes in horror and revulsion. Stop! He pleaded with himself, It’s not his fault! He felt his claws close in on the upper arms of the man, the tips on the verge of poking through the fabric. I could do it. But I don’t want to… I can't! Still, his anger and claws ignored his mind. The cloth of the RSO’s uniform gave way, and the teen soon felt the man’s flesh meeting a similar fate.

What are you doing? What am I doing!? His claws cut deeper into his prey, though he could feel them start to listen to him, their march into the muscle slowing. STOP! Suddenly, as if by magic, the red clouding his vision began to fade. His claws released the man and backed away, beside himself in what he had just done. “I'm sorry…” Subject 1276 stepped away from the stunned man, seeing what he had done, albeit it could have been worse. He backed up until he reached the door and then made a dead sprint to his room, locking the door behind him.

The augmented teen sat against the door, wings drooping and his head held against the palms of his scaly, unnatural hands. He stayed sitting there for a few minutes, trying to understand what he had done both now and in the past. Why was he like this? What did he do to deserve being what he was? This wasn’t him. How could it be? How could anyone be like this? He closed his eyes, trying to remember a time before all of this; before the killing. He started to wonder if he had always been this way. Any memories he had prior to the augmentations were fuzzy at best. He could remember nothing before this compound as if it he had always existed within its walls. It was a cold, hard prison, housing something so soft and frail. All that he had seen outside of this place was during a mission, a task that kept him from seeing it and forcing him to shed more blood of others. Was that why he was so angry?

He had no other experiences to draw on besides bloodshed; it was his world, all he knew. He read many things, and learned of them as well, but as the proverb went, if I’m involved, I understand. All he had been involved in was violence. He grew up in it, cultured in its vile and wicked womb. He thought it, dreamt it, breathed, and ate it. It nourished him thus far, yet he didn’t want any of it. It made him sick to think that he survived on it. A large part of him loved what he did to the RSO but it was unacceptable to a smaller, deeper part of himself. He both hated and reveled in his kill tally. It wasn’t high, and part of him hated himself for it not being higher. Yet, that self-hatred only increased his disdain for himself. Around him, he saw only violence, felt it, tasted it. Few were kind, save for Newman and Klein. His memories tried to drift further, but again, hit the impenetrable wall that was the time before all of this.

Soon, he stood up and made his way to the mirror in his room. He looked at it and examined what was peering back at him. He made a small snarling face and then it clicked. What he saw wasn’t a soldier, no boy, nor teenager. He was a monster, it was what he had shown to the range officer and was likely what many others around him saw as well. Was that why some people acted strange around him? He was wasn’t human on the outside and nor was he much of one on the inside, but his heart and feelings were most certainly human. What he felt on the inside was not what stared back at him, on the inside, he was no monster. He was just a kid, a child in a drafted war with no friends or allies to call on. Part of him wanted the companionship of such a thing, to have kindness in his life; kindness only for the sake of kindness.

The scales on his face were red, as they usually were, but they were likely brighter when he was angry. He liked to think so, at least. His teeth were sharp razors anchored in his long muzzle. He looked like he wanted to kill, even when he didn't. However, it was his eyes that said otherwise; soft-looking and a brilliant mix of sage and blue, mirroring his true emotions. They showed him what he could be, but yet what he was not designed to be. This wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to be this way. This was Archer’s doing; the Director gave the orders to have Subject 1276 undergo “augmentation”. Because of Archer, he was alone; and it was Archer who would eventually pay the price.

He growled softly to himself as he thought about that man. His growl was cut short when He noticed the books sitting on his desk behind him through the mirror. There, on his desk, his sharp eyes caught the backwards lettering on the spine on the book. It took him a few seconds to reorient the words, but soon what he thought he read brought a smile to his muzzle.

The dragon teen made his way casually over to the book, trying his best to contain his confidence. “The Principle Hand-loader’s Guide” he read the title quietly to himself. He laughed a little and picked up the tome. How had he not read this yet? It looked like something he would have opened up in a heartbeat. Book in hand, he sauntered to his bed. He fell onto it, giving himself a little spin as he dropped so that he would land on his back. He bounced once and sprawled out his wings, getting comfortable before opening the book.

The first chapter was all about ballistics and terminology, a good portion of which he already knew, but it felt nice to see a couple things he had not seen before. He blew through that chapter relatively quickly, however he started to have difficulty with the material in the second chapter. He had to revisit the section concerning pressures caused by the bullets and their effects on a firearm a couple of times, but he soon felt that he was understanding it. After finishing that chapter, the dragon felt he needed to put the tome down so his mind could adjust to all he had taken in.

***

“He did what, now?” Director Archer inquired, rubbing his temples to reduce the stress of what he had been told. The range equipment was expensive, hardly the thing anyone that had to look at budget plans wanted to look at. First, contact with 1275 had been lost, and now he was hearing about how the long range prototype had caused damage to the most expensive range in the entire project.

“He pushed the servos in the firing range past their breaking point, sir.” Major Newman replied. “The event enraged Talon, which he then redirected toward Sergeant Tannis.” The corpsman held a clipboard with quickly written notes. As the primary psychological evaluator for both 1275 and 1276, Newman was one of the first to respond to the incident. The man evaluated his notes for a minute, his mouth absentmindedly open as he tried to connect a few dots with the information he had scribbled on the piece of paper.

“Was there something you wished to add, Major?” Archer asked, having caught the look the psychologist made while thinking.

Jeremy paused for a bit, composing his speech before letting it fall from his mouth. “I believe Talon may be developing some sort of aggressive performance anxiety. It has been a long since we have deployed him.” He took another pause, trying to choose his words carefully. “My sessions with him indicate that he thinks we do not have faith in his abilities. However, he has also expressed distaste in killing, particularly with how ‘messy’ his last assignment had been.”

Archer leaned back in his chair, taking in the information. “But I have read reports on his performances at the ranges and other test areas. His abilities are extremely high.”

Major Neman nodded, “He has indeed performed incredibly well. I have seen reports stating that he has broken shooting records by three-hundred percent. But that is just the issue; he has run out of things in this facility to challenge him, and I would recommend against allowing him to train further against live personnel.” He took a breath and relaxed a little; He was tired and he was running on little sleep. “He has literally maxed out our ability to prepare him for combat, but we are not giving him any chance to prove himself.”

“Very well, Newman.” Wickham stated, tapping on his computer and calling up a recent intelligence report that the organization had managed to snag. “There is a strike team poised to take out a terrorist cell in Saudi Arabia that has a strong connection to the ring Subject 1275 was sent to eradicate. We will send him there.”

***

A knock sounded at his door, it wasn’t Archer, whose hands were heavy and slow. That was good, he didn’t want Archer. The dragon took a moment to dry his face before opening his maw, “I’m here.” He sat on his bed with his legs held to his chest while he waited for his visitors.

The door slid open and revealed Major Newman, flanked by two other officers in full service uniforms. Talon became uncomfortable when they stepped in. While he somewhat trusted the shrink, he never stopped asking questions about his first deployment and sometimes hooked him up to machines ask them yet again! However, what gave the child pause was the presence of the two officers, both with hands on their holsters. Talon wondered if their being here had anything to do with the events from earlier. The psychologist must have thought the dragon a threat. It was slightly insulting; 1276 had no hard feelings toward the man. Then again, he didn’t hate the RSO either. Jeremy opened his mouth, but was cut off by the sniper long before a sounds left it.

“I didn’t mean to. I was angry.” It was true. Looking back, he had originally been livid at the range officer. But even with his claws digging into the man’s arms, he could not find any rational justification for why it would have been the poor man’s fault.

Major Newman stood in front of the altered boy, his hands at his sides in a laid back fashion. “We all get angry, Talon. Sgt. Tannis knows you didn’t mean it. Do you know why you were angry?”

“I want to be better. I know I can do it, but I can’t show it here. It’s been fprever since I was deployed.” The boy looked up at the corpsman. “I want to prove I can do better than last time.”

“No one has ever broken the range equipment like that” the Major responded, but was met with a small growl.

“And there is no one like me, either!” Subject 1276 retorted. “I want to go out in the field again.”

“But what if you freeze like your first assignment?” The psychologist asked. It was a long shot, but the man had to try getting to the bottom of the issue that had surfaced that day.

It was a shot that was fated to miss, the boy’s face becoming a snarl. “I told you, it was nothing. I’m fine, Jeremy. I am tired of you asking.” The dragon looked at the two officers in turn. “And I don’t like them being in my room and acting like I blew up the armory.”

The two men looked at each other, their expressions trading information that Talon could not gather, but seemed to be in his favor. Slowly, both relaxed their arms to their sides and instead placed their hands behind their backs. Subject 1276 could feel himself relax with them, his thoughts cooling and becoming more focused. For a moment, Major Newman looked at the dragon appraisingly for a few moments, seeking some hint that the teen would budge, but the reptilian face was as unreadable as ever.  Sighing, the psychologist shook his head.

“In any case, that is not the reason these gentleman are here.”  He said, and the dragon teen looked up, a suspicion in his eyes.  “You are getting your wish, Talon.  We have found another assignment worthy of your talents.”

***

“This is the target.” The man at the front of the room spoke as various pictures of some oriental-looking man flooded the screen in the briefing room. The images and other information, of course, were all downloaded to his neural lace and he didn’t even need to hear the name, nor was he even looking at the man. “He, however, is not your direct assignment.”

Subject 1276 fidgeted slightly in his seat, inspecting the black claws that jutted from the tips of his fingers. However, the next sentences caught what little attention the dragon had given, “You will be providing sniper support for the strike team sent in to deal with the target. You are an indirect combatant.” The dragon looked up at the man with cold, piercing eyes like he had just been shot him. The man swallowed, feeling as if the dragon’s gaze was slowly creeping into and freezing his soul. “We are not doubting your ability, but the target is surrounded by civilians and we cannot afford to let them see you.”

The dragon huffed and slumped in his chair, still feeling as if he were cheated somehow. It made sense, yes; Subject 1276 was valuable, and no one could know just what he was or what he was capable of. “I understand,” he said in a low voice, “Avoid direct contact with civilians. Who is the strike team? Are they part of the Project?”

Director Archer stood up and folded his hands behind his back. “No, 1276, they are a branch of the Navy Seals. A small, four-man team.” The slightly rotund man looked the teen in the eyes, “They do not know of you, only that they have long range support if needed. Keep it that way.”

“The secondary objective is to acquire intel on one of the larger affiliates of the group, The Ninth Arc, from which the main target is visiting.” The man stopped and looking at the teen and waiting for him to acknowledge what he was saying. He hated it when he put this much work into these briefings only to be ignored. He understood that he probably didn’t need to be looking to understand what was going on thanks to all that fancy technology, but it was still a matter of respect, which the prototype was obviously not giving. When he seemed to not notice the silence after about a minute, the man loudly cleared his throat. The teen’s head shot up immediately, the ear frills perking up and expanding out. The man smiled and clasped his hands before continuing. “These affiliates are giving us a lot of trouble, so any information we can gather on them will do some good.”

The slides changed to a set of maps as the man continued. “You will be deploying via HALO jump, though with a slight modification due to your…unique physical qualities.” A small X popped up on each of the maps. “You will be setting down here on a small ridge approximately one kilometer from a small village in Saudi Arabia’s Northern Borders. Our intelligence points to this settlement as an operating base for the terrorist group. From your location, you are to provide long range fire support and to ensure the survival of the task force.”

***

The dragon breathed deeply as he sat in his seat. Everything was quiet in the rear fuselage of the drop plane, save for the sound of the engines and the air whipping by outside. It was cold, enough to make the sniper shiver and wish he had brought a jacket along, even though he’d never admit it. He was stronger than that. Plus, he wouldn’t need the added warmth where he was going. The cold here was temporary anyway. Really, he was only half awake, drifting on the far boundaries of consciousness; the semi-comfortable state one could force themselves into if there was nothing to do but wait. Despite this, his mind was surprisingly active. His thoughts floated from the hand loading book, to the mission, and back again. In this state, he could almost feel happy.

Idly, he brushed his hands over his sparse combat harness; comprised of a simple ammo vest and rigger’s belt. Attached to the belt was a drop-leg holster housing a small pistol and an extra magazine, not that he planned on needing it. Opposite was a small pouch meant for holding empty magazines, or really anything he wanted. His spine started to grow sore while he sat. He shifted a little, moving the scabbard that was mounted vertically between his wings so it would stop pressing so uncomfortably on his spine. The metal of its dangerous cargo clicked against the securing clasps, but the weight didn’t shift independently of the scabbard, indicating that the rifle was actually secure. Once it stopped jabbing him in the back, Subject 1276 settled into the seat once more, trying to find the comfortable position he had been in prior to the scabbard bothering him.

He looked perfectly calm on the outside, thanks to his semi-conscious state. It belied what was really going on. He was being sent to kill and help kill. There was no peace in this; his gut roiled at the thought of blood running every – no, not now. He mentally steeled himself, keeping those memories from resurfacing. Do your job: keep the team alive. His thoughts split, one part focusing on his assignment, while the other drifted off toward other things. It turned to Archer; the man whom was responsible for this…thing that he had become. His fists clenched tightly upon themselves, strangling nothing but air as his thoughts grew hot. He wanted to make that man go away, but could not make that wish a reality much like how he could not be normal. But he had time. Time was on his side ever since he had been created. He saw it when he had done his target practice; the way that time seemed to slow down all around him when he focused. With time, he broke records. Perhaps, with a little more, he could right what was wronged.

He had just gotten comfortable again when the alarm in the drop compartment sounded, and the lights ran red within the large metal belly. It didn’t phase him until it sounded loudly again. He sighed, fully activated his neural lace, and checked the time on the faux images in his mind: 30 seconds to drop. The dragon growled and slowly stood up, stretching and popping a couple joints. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear his slowly waking mind. The rest of his mind woke relatively quickly, though it still felt like ages. His lace started feeding him a fake voice to hear as the pilot spoke into his radio.

“One-Two-Seven-Six, you are clear for drop.” The cargo bay door started swinging down and the red sky of a beautiful morning quickly pushed light into the drop bay. The dragon took a deep breath, made his way to the far wall opposite the door, and did another tactile check of his gear of his gear before activating the response circuit of his lace.

“Subject 1276, set.” He said as he set himself into a sprint. Ten meters, that was the length of his runway. He didn’t need it, but he figured that he might as well make the best of it. Flying is what he loved to do, after all. Once he got to the end of the ramp, he launched himself into the open air. “I’m dropping, close the door.”

He felt weightless as the air resistance slowed him and he started to angle his body down, head first. This is what he was, what he had become. This is what he was forced to be: a killer. But up here, in this aetherious womb, he was home. He let it envelope him, luxuriated in the crisp whip of the air rushing by his body. This was perfect, where he was meant to be…