Project: Lazarus >“Dismount!” The dirt and rocks crunch underneath 200+ pounds of Marine as I jump from the MRAP, with the endless Afghani heat on my neck. I nearly tip over as 500 rounds of Real Fucking NATO gets thrown into my arms, PFC Nicholson jumping down with my 240. >“Good catch, Sarge! You didn’t fall on your ass this time!” Nicholson joked. Mustering my strength, I toss the pack back over to Nicholson. Watching him crumple slightly as he caught 40 lbs of ammo drew a smile on my face. Picking up my 240, I decided to poke some fun at the PFC’s expense. >“Try again, Private.” I smirk. >“Davis! Get your ass in gear! Go catch up to Alexson!” said the 1st LT. >“Sure thing, Louie, I’m going, I’m going!” I say. Hiking up 55-degree slopes wearing full battle rattle under 110F heat could kill a man. But not a Marine. Half an hour into the hike to bumfuck nowhere, Muhammad, the interpreter, started yelling for us to stop. >“Stop! Stop! Ambush! Taliban! Taliban say ‘Americans going to Walikgo-Khaili, ambush at grape orchard!’ 60 Taliban say they prepare ambush.” >“Michael, you hearing this?” I ask the 1st LT. >“I got it. Davis, take your fireteam up that ridge. Alexson! Take your squad and head through the orchards; get ready to light up those hadjis when they pop up, I’ll take the trail and draw their fire.” >“Got it. You heard him, get moving!” I order my fireteam, moving with purpose up the rocky incline. As our patrol splits, Muhammad’s radio scanner goes off like crazy with the amount of sand-people speak. I can make out some of the words - ‘Run’ and ‘Faster!’ and ‘Allah Ackbar’. Doesn’t matter much to me as we set up the MGs. Nicholson hands me 2 more cans of 240 food and goes to pass more belts to the other SAW gunner. Jackson’s face is lit up with a crazy smile as he charges his M32, almost jittery in anticipation of combat. Fuckin’ combat junkies. I watch Alexson’s squad weave through the grapevines, while Baker radios for CAS to be on standby. F-15s loaded with Mk. 82s are being scrambled from Zulu Point; all we can do is wait for the damn hadjis to show up. Sure enough, they came, but with much more than 60 fighters. They crested the ridge, right into my crosshairs. >“Look alive! Hadjis, 1 o’clock high! Baker! Raise the LT, tell him he’s got contact to his 10 o’clock! Open fire!” I shout. My 240 barks with the “TACK-TACK-TACK-TACK-TACK-TACK” of the first burst, the SAWs opening up with their faster “BRAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT”, red tracers of death flying across the valley. Alexson’s grenadiers launch 40mm grenades into the rocks above, shredding hadji. The distinctive cracks of M16A4s and the meaty “RAT-TAT-TAT” of AK fire is exchanged below in the valley, and the faint ‘POONK’ of 40mm grenades echoes up the mountainsides. >“Reloading!” I shout; the other 2 SAW’s fire picking up to cover my reload. 7.62 rounds whizz and snap overhead as I load a new belt in. Someone shouts ‘RPG!’ and I hear the ‘FWISH’ of a rocket streaking overhead. Pulling the charging handle back and sending it forward again, I shout, >“Loaded!” The 240 begin to kick up dust as I fire again, searching for the RPG gunner. I see the launch report of one, shifting my aim to engage. As I do so, I see the rocket’s warhead streaking right towards me. I don’t have enough time to react as it slams into the rock face behind me. Something peppers my legs and back, but I don’t care to enough to give it much attention as I cut down the RPG gunner. With another belt empty, I shout for Nicholson to fetch me more ammo. Jackson is laughing like a maniac, popping 40mm rounds off like the 4th of July, and I could’ve sworn he popped a combat boner. Nicholson runs over with 2 more cans of 7.62, exchanging them for some of the USGI mags I had in my vest. 2 belts later, the firefight was still raging on, the occasional RPG going off. These were some hardened hadjis, stolen plate carriers, and US uniforms, some even using M4s. I suppress one behind a rock outcropping, hoping for a lucky round to strike him. The next moment, the rock is eviscerated by a 1,000 lb bomb, leaving nothing but a smoldering crater and smoke. The sound of an F-15 streaking overhead accompanies another bomb detonation, directly on top of another Hadji’s head. The Hadjis know they’ve lost, and begin retreating under the fire of American air support. F-15s begin to harass the fleeing Taliban, even strafing them with 20mm rounds. Jackson lets out a war cry, shouting at the top of his lungs, which we all join in. I attempt to pick myself up off the ground. To my horror, I can’t. I can’t feel my feet. I shout for Nicholson. >“Nick! Nick! I think I’m hit!” He sprints over and begins to call for a medic. I hand him my IFAK, which he tears open, applying my Quik-Clot to my wounds. >“Sarge, do you feel this?” He asks. Looking back, I see that he’s pointing to a 6-inch piece of shrapnel in my thigh. I shake my head, and he yanks it out. >“Nick, I can’t feel my legs. Shit, man, I can’t feel ‘em!” He begins to shout at Baker to call a MEDEVAC. --- Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany. 18:00 I look over the X-Rays again and again. 14 different pieces of shrapnel lodged throughout my lower bloody. ‘Too dangerous to remove’ the doctors said. In my mind, I keep a tiny bit of hope that I was different from the many other cases and that I would recover. Lost in my thoughts, I don’t even notice the knock at my door. The door to my room swings open and three suited men enter. Black suits, black ties. They screamed spook to me. Pulling out a small notebook, the lead suit spoke. >“Sergeant John Davis of Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, born to Sarah Davis in 1984. Father was a Marine in Vietnam, looks like Force Recon. Must run in the family, huh?” >“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask defensively. They all exchange looks before the lead suit speaks again. Pulling out an official-looking piece of paper from the notebook, he hands it to me. >“We’re here to give you a second chance.” I scan over the paper. The official seal of the US Government, lots of government agency names, and science terms that have no meaning to me. I flip through the pages, skimming over the words. Words like ‘Weapons systems’ and ‘Classified’ jump out at me, but the ones that draw my attention the most are the disclaimers. I turn to ask them what the hell ‘Sodium Hypochlorite Overload’ and ‘Hydrostatic Biofoam Interfluid Loss’ meant, but was greeted by a pen. >“The hell is this?” I ask. >“Your second chance, Sergeant Davis. Sign the paper.” The suit says, emotionless. >“And what if I don’t?” >“Nothing. You go back Stateside. But with no living relatives, no money, and a disability, you have no other option to sign.” >“What about my veterans benefits? I’ll just live on that.” I retort. >“Sergeant Davis, you and I both know the VA is too incompetent to actually provide you enough assistance to survive solely off of the government. Especially with your disability.” Backed into a corner, I hesitatingly take the pen from his outstretched hand. I look over the contract once more, noting the obscene amounts of risks of deaths and disclaimers. Flipping to the last page, I touch the tip of the pen to the marked line. Taking a deep breath, I sign my name. I flip back to the cover page, and hand it back to the suit, who takes it with a fake smile. Shaking my hand, he gives me a lukewarm welcome to the program. >“Welcome to the Lazarus Program, Sergeant Davis.” --- Edwards AFB, Nevada, USA Homey Airport, Groom Box 04:30 Grey concrete hallways, lit by fluorescent lights. Fresh paint line the walls, ensuring you never get lost. The ‘Clack-Clack-Clack’ of footsteps echo throughout the halls, the wheelchair occasionally giving a small squeak. A quiet cough is the only thing that breaks the monotony of the atmosphere. Reaching the end of the hall, I find it is filled with heavy-duty steel vault doors. Agent Palmer, the suit from the hospital, walked up to the panel and punched in some digits. With a pneumatic hiss, the steel vault door retracts down into the floor. As Agent Palmer rolls me into the alarmingly bright room, I take in the features of the room. My attention is immediately drawn to the 7’ suit of titanium. Like something straight out of a science-fiction novel, a bipedal robot. Weapons were neatly placed on the table nearby, some field-stripped, others completely disassembled. I recognized most, like the SMAW, M249, and M4; the rest not so much. A range of different calibers were present; from .50BMG to 30mm autocannon rounds. >“Sergeant, if you would please.” Agent Palmer said. >“Huh? Oh.” I was helped out of the wheelchair, onto a table. A team of men in white scrubs surrounded me, running some sort of instrument over me wordlessly with the exception of a few nods. Seemingly satisfied with their check, the lead doctor gestured for me to lie down. Bringing my legs up, I laid down on the surprisingly comfy table. The doctors scan me with the strange instrument once more, this time with determined nods. One brings a needle filled with a translucent orange liquid with the viscosity of honey. I register a small pinch of pain in my arm before it completely numbs. Spreading from my arm down to my fingertips, before slowly spreading across my chest, the numbness engulfs me. In minutes, my entire body is paralyzed. One of the doctors shines a flashlight in my eyes, before finally addressing me. >“Sergeant Davis? Can you hear me? Blink if you can hear me.” With what felt like lead weights attached to my eyelids, I manage to blink in response. >“Good. Good. You should feel completely paralyzed. If you are not paralyzed, blink once. If you are, blink twice, please.” The doctor orders. Again, I manage to blink twice. The weights are beginning to get heavier and heavier. >“Good. We are beginning the procedure. Please relax, Sergeant.” He says. My head is lifted, and I watch the medical team go to work. Needles everywhere. IV lines run from my legs, arms, and chest. I can faintly feel some instrument working on the back of my neck. >“Sergeant, we are going to put you under now. When you awake, you will be in control of that robot. Please refrain from performing any sudden movements; it is still in its experimental phase. Godspeed.” With those words, I met the abyss of darkness. My eyes felt forcibly shut, unable to open. Thankfully, this was only for a short moment, as I was back in control. Opening my eyes, I was greeted by a boot sequence - which quickly changed to a HUD. Various systems popped up and miniaturized themselves; limbs came online, muscles activated, and finally, a video feed. Too bright for the lenses, I tried to ‘blink’, to no avail. In a moment, the video feed adjusted to the brightness. One of the medical team waved for my attention. His mouth moved, but I could not hear. I signaled to him that I could not hear. In response, he wrote something on his notepad and ordered a subordinate. A message popped up on the HUD - Audio System Online. >“Can you hear me? Sergeant Davis? Hello?” >“Yeah, I can hear you.” I say. Surprisingly, it’s my voice. I expected some sort of text-to-speech program instead. >“Can I move around now?” I ask. The doctor jots down something on his notepad and signals his subordinate with a simple nod. I’m lowered to the ground, and stand on my legs, albeit shakily. There’s a sort of auto-balance system that is fighting my natural movement. >“Hey, is there a way to shut this auto-balance system off? It’s screwing with my movement.” I say, annoyed. >“You can shut it off through the neural interface. Think about what you want, and the computer should bring it up.” The doctor says. Sure enough, the HUD brings up an auto-balance protocol, which I disable. Immediately, I feel less restricted and am able to move around more freely. I begin exploring the rest of the systems; Internal Temperature, Camera Functions, Predictive Trajectory just to name a few. >“Sergeant? If you would.” The doctor says, indicating for me to walk with him. Taking that first step, I nearly bound across the room. The doctor looks at me with surprise, before writing another note on his notepad. Toning down the power servos, I apologize. >“This is an unprecedented first, Sergeant. Mistakes are to be expected,” He says nonchalantly, “Now, Sergeant, if you would, we may continue on testing, please.” --- 8 hours later --- >“That concludes our first round of testing. Very well done, Sergeant Davis. You showed excellent command of the Automatron. Next, we shall begin weapons testing. If you will follow me to the firing range.” The doctor says. Upon reaching the firing range, the HUD automatically scanned the weapons laying on the table, showing the complete assembly and disassembly of all the parts, how it operated, complete with every little detail there was to know about it. >“If you would, Sergeant.” With robotic precision, I assembled all the weapons laying on the table, too fast for human eyes to track. Optics were a thing of the past with the abilities of this machine; Trajectories were mapped in nanoseconds, Automatic recoil-dampening systems, Threat Identification built into the camera system. FLIR, NV, Laser Designation, all rolled into one package. The only reason I held the rifle as I did was to still hold onto a semblance of humanity. >“Fire at will, Sergeant.” All that was left of the ‘x’ in the center of the target was a 1-inch hole. --- >“Very good, Sergeant. The Automaton has well exceeded our initial expectations, most likely due to our pilot.” The doctor says. >“Ah, thank you very much.” I say. >“We will be deploying the Automaton for field testing, effective immediately. Report to the quartermaster for additional instructions.” He orders. >“Sir, two questions.” I ask. >“Yes?” >“Firstly, what of my body?” >“It will be kept here. As long as the neural link remains, there should not be a problem with the connectivity. We will take care of all your nutritional needs. Do not worry yourself, Sergeant.” >“Second, what about field modifications?” I ask. >“Up to your discretion. However, I do not recommend damaging the internal systems of the Automaton.” Snapping a salute, I thank the good doctor for his time. >“One last thing, Sergeant Davis. Another project is going to be field tested alongside you. The codename for the project is ‘Apotheosis’. Good luck.” With that last piece of information, the doctor turns oh his heel, and walks away. ---