Saturday March 12, 454 MC
Destroyer Class Flagship Zeus
2043 GMT
CORE 47 managed not to wince as Alpha Fighter Morales, the man Command had assigned him to, roughly slammed him against the closed door to Morales’s new Alpha quarters. This was yet another assignment for the Core, or Corporation Organic Robotic Entity. Despite telling the Creators that 47 knew who his Fighter was, they had yet again gone against protocol and assigned him to a Fighter not of his choosing for the third time.
He was bred by the Creators, a singular group of scientists who lived on ship and were rarely seen by lower personnel, for the purpose of strengthening the Alpha Zodiac spacefighter systems. The Fighter whom 47 had chosen was coming soon. Damion Hawk. 47 had been tracking him for a little less than two years, ever since the Fighter’s initial training test scores had come into the system. And he had not been disappointed, because the Fighter continued to improve as time and training went by. He had known since then that Damion Hawk was the Fighter he wanted to fly with, for 47 was the best Core the Chrysalis Corporation had, and he deserved to be assigned to the best. Together 47 and Fighter Hawk would be able to achieve great things for the militaristic Corporation, as well as further advance their technology and battle tactics for the battle against the rebels, which would protect the colonies.
Another teeth-rattling slam against the metal door shook 47 out of his thoughts. The shooting pain up his spine and into his head forced him to pay attention to the present instead of his future plans. The fingers digging into his shoulders and holding him harshly against the door tightened and were accompanied by the nasty voice of 47’s newly assigned Alpha Fighter—Riviara Morales: a man who was an undiscovered murderer and a mediocre pilot. 47 was also aware, from performing a check into the pilot’s background, that Morales was cruel to his Cores, his last one having been taken away and plugged into the Zeus’s main control system since his body had been too damaged to walk again. All this would have caused any normal human to be terrified of their fate, but 47 was a Core and didn’t have the ability to be afraid.
“Are you even listening to me, you little shit?” Morales growled as he shook 47 so hard that again 47’s teeth rattled, his head hitting the door. But 47 didn’t raise his gaze from where it had focused on the zipper of the Fighter’s black flight suit, nor did he answer. The Fighter’s right hand left 47’s shoulder, only to grab his throat. Using his thumb under 47’s jaw, he forced 47’s glacier blue gaze to meet the anger in his chocolate brown eyes.
“You are mine now. Crow and Luco may not have been smart enough to keep you under control, but I promise you that I won’t have that issue.” The Fighter’s thumb dug painfully into the soft space right beneath 47’s jawbone, so much so that it pushed his tongue up in his closed mouth and forced his head back farther. “I’ll bring you to heel quickly and to the point that you’ll be so respectful of me that you won’t even think about offing me like you did those two pilots. That’s why the Commander pressured the Creators into giving you to me. He knew I could control you and beat that rebellious and holier-than-thou attitude right out of your machine brain. Do you understand me?”
“Core 47 understands your words, Fighter Morales,” 47 replied in a monotone voice as Morales’s grip loosened. His gaze locked with the tanned man’s.
He said this, and he did understand the man’s words completely, but he would never submit to this Fighter’s commands because he was not 47’s Fighter, the only person, besides the Creators, from whom 47 would take commands. While he could bond with Fighters whom the Commander matched him with, he would not with this man. He would go through the motions without forming the connection. Cores were made to merge with the Zodiac systems, including navigation, life support, engine performance, and programming high-response protocols for the Zodiacs. The bond aided the Core to modify those systems to suit the individual Fighter. The bonding process allowed the Core to sense the Fighter within the system. It made them able to recognize the way their pilot worked within the Zodiac. 47 would be his Fighter’s key to unlocking optimal performance.
“Glad we have an understanding,” Morales said with a smirk, his massive ego showing through. “I have no idea how a weak-looking thing like you got the best of two other Fighters. You’ll be a good little dog soon enough.” He yanked 47 away from the door by his throat before throwing him toward the bathroom door. 47 managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor before his face smashed into it, and he stayed there, knowing better than to get up without permission. 47’s body had been modified since his creation, but he still bled from his nose and mouth as a normal human would. Bleeding was apparently not enough for the Fighter, though, as the swift kick in the ribs that flipped 47 onto his back showed him. He kept his gaze lowered, locked on the boot that had nearly cracked a rib, his face expressionless, not even showing the pain throbbing through his neck and chest.
“Get up and strip. Your first lesson is going to be how to please me, and I need a shower. You’re going to wash me as well as make sure my cock is properly drained. I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do to you, as long as I am satisfied in the end. Do you understand me?”
“Affirmative, Fighter Morales, I understand you,” 47 said clearly, getting to his feet and beginning to unzip his flight suit.
Oh yes. This man was going to join his former comrades. This man, who was not his Fighter, was going to die.