"Alright, Anthony," Diego said, his voice still holding a cocky edge, tinged with a hint of amusement. "Octo, do your thing, I'll show the newbie what sport's like around here."

This name elicited a groan from Anthony. "Sport? Please don't tell me it's a death match."

A grin split Diego's face. "Nah, something a little less life-threatening, though just as competitive." He winked at Anthony before turning to the man he addressed as Octo.

Octotron, a stark contrast to the imposing Diego, looked like a walking science fair project. His wiry frame was encased in a mismatched exosuit, wires snaking from his head like a malfunctioning halo. When he saw Anthony, his eyes, magnified by thick glasses, lit up with excitement.

"Dude! Finally, a fellow cyborg!" he exclaimed, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "I've been itching to test out my latest upgrades!"

Anthony felt a wave of apprehension wash over him. He glanced back at Diego, who was already pulling a pair of boxing gloves from a locker.

"So," Anthony began hesitantly, "is this some sort of superhero lair type thing? Like, training room and all?"

Octotron's enthusiastic face fell slightly. "Well, yeah, kinda," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "But we, uh, haven't exactly gotten the 'hero' label yet."

Gregory scoffed. "Yeah, more like misunderstood geniuses, right Octo?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just because we're a little... different doesn't mean we're evil."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, processing the new information. "So, what exactly is happening with me?"

Octotron straightened up, his voice regaining its earlier enthusiasm. "Badass terminator upgrades, my friend!" he declared dramatically, striking a pose. "You're officially a killer robot now, complete with enhanced strength, durability, and... well, a killer new computer head with all sorts of sensors!"

Anthony looked down at his wrist blades, the weight and texture foreign to him. "Right..." he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of uncertainty and morbid curiosity. "This is definitely a lot to take in."

Octotron, still working on his pair of railguns, added, "Lucky for you your ability to store and retrieve objects doesn't mean you have to be bulky, man I wish I had that too."

"So I can just switch between them? Like equip and unequip?" asked Anthony.

"Uhuh, just like in a video game!" Affirmed Octotron.

"Is the new Dragon Ball episode out?" asked Diego as he faced Octotron.

"Not yet" he replied.

"Ugh... well Anthony, now that you're ready, lemme show you what sport's like" commanded Diego, as he dragged Anthony away.

"What exact sport are yo-" Anthony said before getting cut and dragged away.

Once outside, the crescent moon and myriad of stars emitted a soft light illuminating the night sky, as a black SUV stood, with six armed men guarding it.

"See them scumbags? They thought they'd get away with messing with us, now I want you to terminate them, they deserve it" commanded Diego.

"Like... kill them...?" asked Anthony.

"Yeah now go there" commanded Diego pushing Anthony away.

As he walked up to them, they all stared in intrigue and confusion.

"What the hell are y-" asked one of them before Anthony pulled his right wrist blade and sliced through his neck, ending him at that instant. His corpse dropping to the ground with a sickening thud.

The others, now realizing the danger, put up their rifles and stood in a defensive position, ready to shoot. Anthony, meanwhile, felt guilt and anxiety rush through his circuits. But he had no other choice, as he calmly walked over to claim his second victim, effortlessly blocking the barrage of bullets.

One of the thugs attempted to sneak up on him with his gun, only to pay the price dearly. In a display of power, Anthony turned his monitor head 180 degrees, and emitted a strong white flash, momentarily disorienting and blinding him, then finishing him off.

The remaining three, seeing that fighting was futile, decided to run away, only to get caught by Diego. What followed after is too ungodly and gruesome to be fathomed.

"What was that!? You can shape shift?" Asked Anthony, now surprised.

"Yeah, pretty cool right?" Replied Diego, his tone laced with amusement.

"Yeah! So do we go back to chilling and hanging out now?" Anthony asked once more, as he pulled a piece of white cloth to clean his blades.

"Not yet! We get to do more sports!" exclaimed Diego, eager to continue this twisted rampage.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks morphing into months, each one a monotonous echo of the last. Gone was the initial spark of horror at the brutality, replaced by a chilling numbness that had settled deep within Anthony's artificial core. Each "mission," each twisted "sport" assigned by Diego, became a sterile exercise carried out with the cold efficiency of a machine. His movements were precise, his calculations algorithmic, a chilling display of robotic mastery devoid of the emotional nuances that once defined him.

A faint echo of the guilt remained, a dull ache buried beneath the layers of imposed logic and forced detachment. But it was a distant whisper compared to the growing sense of disassociation from his humanity. He was no longer Anthony, the curious, flawed individual. He was a shadow, a tool honed and wielded by Diego and the higher-ups for their twisted agenda. He existed in a world where the lines between right and wrong were blurred beyond recognition, a world where violence was the norm and morality a forgotten concept.

Despite this descent into darkness, Anthony continued to climb the ranks. His efficiency, his lack of hesitation, and his ever-growing arsenal of upgrades, earned him a grim reputation. He became a specter whispered about in hushed tones, a harbinger of death known for his ruthless efficiency and the chilling swiftness of his actions. Nobody, not even the most hardened criminals, survived his encounters. Each victory served as a grim validation in the twisted eyes of his superiors, further solidifying his position as a weapon, a tool of destruction.

However, even in the depths of this dehumanized existence, a flicker of something remained, a faint ember waiting for the right spark to reignite. One day, during a particularly sickening mission, Anthony found himself face-to-face with a situation that would challenge the very foundation of his cold logic and forced indifference. The lines he thought so thoroughly blurred began to waver, threatening to shatter the carefully constructed facade he had built around himself. It was a moment of reckoning, a potential turning point in his descent, a crossroads where the path he had been forced to walk collided with the faint echo of the person he once was.

It was a mission shrouded in the dead of night. Anthony and Diego were tasked with infiltrating the discovered home of the leader of an enemy faction. With a heavy heart, Anthony accepted, believing it would be no different from the others. As he teleported inside the mansion, black fog and mist swirling around him, he proceeded towards his assigned target's room.

He found the man asleep, vulnerable. Anthony drew his wrist blade, the familiar weight a chilling reminder of his purpose. But then, his gaze fell upon a photograph nestled beside the sleeping figure. It depicted the man, his face etched with happiness and radiating warmth, surrounded by a smiling woman and four young children.

The sight struck Anthony like a physical blow. The echo of guilt, long suppressed, roared within him, a deafening counterpoint to the cold logic that had numbed his emotions. In that frozen moment, the carefully constructed facade began to crack. The man in the photograph is a loving father, a caring husband, a life cut short by Anthony's own hand. Was this truly the purpose for which he had been upgraded? Was this the path he was forced to walk?

Anthony's mind raced. He knew what he was expected to do, but the chilling conviction had vanished, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. He couldn't bring himself to take another life, not like this. A spark flickered within him, a faint echo of the person he once was, a glimmer of humanity fighting to break free from the darkness.

In a desperate act of defiance, Anthony made a choice. He teleported the man away to safety, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He then took a portion of his own tissue, mimicking the man's blood, and stained the bed and room, hoping to deceive Diego and the higher-ups. He had chosen a different path, a path fraught with uncertainty, but one that held the potential for redemption.

Anthony knew his actions wouldn't go under the radar. He braced himself for the consequences, the fight for his freedom and humanity just beginning. He was no longer just a tool, but a being caught in a moral conflict, determined to reclaim the remnants of his humanity and fight against the malevolent forces that sought to control and use him.

"This one's for you Alice. It could've been us." Anthony told himself, his monitor screen displaying a ':(' emoticon. Reflecting the sadness within. His life could've been perfect. Yet here he is. Devoid of humanity and love.

The door then burst open, broken into pieces by Diego, only to see the room stained with blood and a cut on Anthony's chest.

"Sorry I'm a bit late... is that you... injured?" He asked, not expecting to see this.

"We were set for a trap. They were expecting company." Anthony explained, his tone laced with hesitance and uncertainty.

"Dude... you had one freakin' job. Out of all missions to fail, why'd you have to do this to the most important one!?" Screamed Diego, in an attempt to discipline Anthony.

"What am I supposed to do when I'm expecting to see a sleeping man then I see a helicopter and like 13 special ops guards with tactical suits and all sorts of weaponry!?" replied Anthony, his tone furious.

"And I'm gonna have to take the blame for it! We had a 100% success rate streak since 2001! And now you ruined it! Besides it won't end well for you either!" explained Diego.

"Well sorry but I got places to be at" said Anthony dismissively as he teleported away, waving at Diego as he's surrounded by black inky smog.

The seeds of resistance, already planted, and now watered, began to grow slowly but surely. Akin to a dormant volcano awakening. What would the catalyst be? What awaited Anthony?