Genetical Cleaners - SV7

I

I woke up to nightmares again. Honestly, I was surprised I still had them. Well, E1N died a pretty ugly death. I've seen cases like this before, but this time it was especially close.

I don't even remember what exactly I dreamed about.

I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. It was still dark, but I decided to get up anyway.

At this stage of the training, when there were fewer of us, we were given our own rooms. There was nothing special about them. Actually, there was only a fairly large bed, a desk, a wardrobe and a small set of things to kill time, not that we complained about the lack of entertainment. The set consisted of government books, exercise equipment and an album by some band I didn't know. I didn't complain about the conditions in which I had to live, because those who were just starting their training sat in barracks that constantly smelt of blood and rot. No wonder, people were dying there quite often.

Training to become a Genetic Cleaner, or GC for short, was a form of degrading an individual to such an extent that he lost his own identity. After all, a perfect soldier shouldn't have the flaws of an average person. The GC soldier was strong, smart, ruthless, and his physical fitness was excellent. Some of them had amazing skills when they came here, but the hardships of this training destroyed their psyche and they were expelled.

I was walking along the dark corridor of the underground building that served as our temporary place to live. The training lasted four years, and anyone over eighteen years of age could sign up for it. There are only a few weeks left until the end of my training. I remember the outside world only from field exercises and two rescue operations that the instructors allowed us to perform. But it wasn't anything special. I had been walking these halls for a year and I hated them more and more each day. The red and black colors of the walls, furniture and everything else that could be found throughout the center were associated only with difficult situations that I experienced here almost every day. Four of us have died just this month, and it's only May tenth.

As I clicked on the touchpad next to the door, I heard a quiet vibration that transferred to the door, opening it wide. My eyes saw an illuminated lobby. It connected to two other corridors that were beyond the reach of my access chip implanted in my hand, four elevators, and a ridiculously large bathhouse.

"SV7" The man behind the counter turned to me. "Isn't it too early for a walk?"

A bald, large guy with a hostile look looking at indecent things on his terminal screen was both receptionist and security guard here. No one knew why anyone needed a bodyguard, because I could have beaten the faces of a dozen or so enemies myself if they had attacked me at the same time, but at least I had someone to talk to. Nikolai, because that was his name, was the only one, apart from the command and high-ranking soldiers, who could use his name here. Everyone else, including me, was given a number at the very beginning and from then on until we were eventually promoted to Sentinel, we weren't allowed to use their names. I couldn't even remember my real name. It was just a blurred memory, repressed along with many others by the torture I endured here.

“Shut up,” I growled, “I can't sleep.”

"Nightmares again? What this time?" he asked, pouring me a glass of high-proof alcohol.

"I don't know. E1N is stuck in my head, nasty sight." I drank the contents of the glass in one gulp and, grimacing my lips, sat down on the chair on the other side of the receptionist's counter.

"Don't you remember how they fucked up that guy, what was his name?... That bearded guy, you know."

"C4?"

"Yeah. That surely was something. An ironic and spectacular death."

"I was in another part of the training field at the time and a piece of his arm almost hit me in the face."