To -y top ---ctor Eta:
All -- forgiven, Eta. Troops w--l be sent w---in the week-
I wake to wet. Wet on my face. Over and over again. I blink my eyes open to red, with flashes of light.
Something is standing on me.
I leap up, my weapons engaging. The rockets on my arms open, pointing at the thing that was on my chest that is now on the floor.
Arms fold around me in a tight restraint, and I try to break free. The arms wrap tighter, and I eventually grow limp. I feel weak. I have never felt this way before and I don’t like it.
The arms, still holding me, place me slowly on the bed. They release quickly and I hear a gun cock. I turn to face it.
It’s him. The man from the garden- but not just the garden.
I remember him.
I loved him.
“Now.” He says as he sits on a chair. “My dog is not to be shot or anything harmful.” He gestures to the now growling creature. He points to the door and the dog leaves.
The man points his gun at me. “I’m going to ask you some questions, you’re going to answer them, and you won’t try any funny business, ok?” he say. “Ok.” He responds to his own question.
“What is your name?” he starts.
“I asked what your name was.”
“Are you kidding me?” he asks incredulously.
“Mari.” I say.
“Where did you come from?”
He shrugs. “I guess that works. What are you?”
He glares at me. “Who made you?”
He snorts. “How did a machine have parents? Are you talking about whatever made you?”
“I wasn’t always like this.” My heart breaks (metaphorically, of course) at the memory. “I was…beautiful once.”
He stares at me. “Okay, I’m confused. Your name is Mari, you’re from the south, you had parents, and you have a boatload of weapons. Where did those come from?”
I say nothing. I fear I have said too much already.
He sighs. “You have questions to ask me?”
“Who are you?”
“What is the date of your birth?” I ask.
“September 19, 2008.”
“Where were you born?”
“What was America, what is now a wasteland.”
My breath comes in quick, short gasps. “And…what were your parents’ names?”
“Marcos and Rebekah Anders.”
I faint again.