Wren

Ö̤F̤̈ C̤̈Ö̤R̤̈P̤̈S̤̈Ë̤S̤̈ Ä̤N̤̈D̤̈ C̤̈Ö̤G̤̈S̤̈ Now I lay. My limbs had been stripped, pistons of black iron Phantoms of tendons. An edge of mine drips life oil. Was it mine? What is mine? When did I become alone? Corpses. The Land of Corpses and Cogs. Now I lay in them. I can hear their words. "You were born for this". Echoes of that day my skin gave way to metal. How it cracks beneath the weight. What is left? When did I grow so lost? What was it that I wanted? Corpses. Biting, screaming. Gone. Now I lay with them. I don't remember when my eyes went. Shattered kaleidoscopes Feed me the moon. Was it always so red? How long has it wept? When did I start laying here? Corpses. Flesh, steel and wire taut. Now I lay as them. What was it she used to tell me? Why can't I find the memory? What was my name? I can't move. Why can't I move? Why can't I see? What is left? I can't remember— Corpses. What became of my heart? ------------------------------------------- Wren is a soilder, born for the purpose of ending life. Over time her body was replaced to bionic parts, for better proformance in her role. Though now, after seeing the devastation she has become, she reflects. She never had a choice, she was always told what she was, never given the option to think for herself. Now what is left of her? Her body is no more, a mechanical shell of mimicry. The only organic portion of her that is left is her brain, as technology has yet to find a way to replicate the human mind without critical error. Her missions have taken her from earth, now primarily working to supress rebellions and insurrections on mars.