Scribbles: Staring at the Dirt
Story by Bingturong on SoFurry
Something short I wrote some time ago.
ou don't know what you've done or why to find yourself on your knees facing the dirt in front of you. You're battered and wounded. Your uniform is in shreds with even your leather boots having given up miles back during the march. You yourself gave up much longer before then. You're cold, wet, and hungry. Your bloodshot eyes don't even dare to look up, up at them. You're too afraid to, too disgusted. You can hear a slight squeaking as their rubber… skin moves. Their heavy boots though muddied still shine even as they stomp around. Their far superior equipment wasn't what scared you. It was their eyes, or lack of.
Every single one of those goddamn… things had their eyes hidden away in some sort of helmet visor, one that glowed red. You swear you could see spirals in them. The visors themselves weren't the horrifying part. You remember during a mission to save some of your comrades when one of the rubber soldiers held one of those helmets, pushing towards poor sap. You didn't know him much other than he was but 18, drafted upon the war. He was scrawny yet he still struggled, pulling and twisting. Trying to escape. You remember how he screamed when they forced the helmet upon him. How he begged. Yet, like everyone before him, he went silent, slack, still. They let him and he merely stood up. In that short moment, every bit of him was gone. His memories, his identity, his life. Turned into another machine, another drone.
You watched in morbid fascination how rubber exploded from the helmet, destroying his clothes and entering… it. Its lithe frame grew more and more muscular. Its muscles swelled in size as well as its height. The rubber began to cover its now gargantuan frame. Every bit of its skin turned into shiny rubber. What looked like heavier bits of rubber formed on its chest, legs, and crotch. Armour. Finally, thicker bits of rubber formed on its hands and feet, turning them into gloves and boots. When all was done it stood up straight and marched forwards. It had no expression or emotion. It moved flawlessly. It was a perfect grunt. It saluted the only one of them not in rubber. An officer you presume. The officer handed it the very same helmet and the process was repeated with… every single captive. Faces you knew now disappeared under a stoic grin and visor.
The mission was declared a failure. Now you yourself are caught by them. You could have escaped with the rest of your platoon. You could have fought when they grabbed you. You could have fought till the bitter end. But you willingly laid your arms and when they forced you to march alongside fellow soldiers who all had the same look as you. A broken look of abandonment. You all knew your fate but whatever part of you that remained still tried to fight. Still tried to be defiant. Yet as you stared at the dirt you finally knew why you did it. You looked up and saw one of them holding the helmet. Your hands shake as you grab it and soon it was all over.