"I'm sorry."

I heard the voice foggily through my drug addled mind, a feminine one, familiar. It roused me enough for my own biochemistry to kick in, flushing the drowsiness away in a flood of endocrines. In less than a second, I was fully aware and without opening my eyes, I knew by smell that it was my nurse. I listened to her movements, the clink of a glass bottle being placed on the side, the squeak of plastic as a syringe was inserted into my IV bag and the minute increase of her breathing rate. Not only was this act unusual but the timing was odd too, my body clock informed me that it was just gone three in the morning and the night shift did not usually administer medications.

A tickle of unease ran down my spine and I immediately acted; I hadn't survived this many years by ignoring those instincts. I shifted noisily and groaned, drawing attention away from my nearside hand which surreptitiously located and squeezed my iv line, shutting it tight between thumb and forefinger. The nurse drew the syringe out and dropped it with a clatter into a sharps bin before placing her hand on my chest, almost caringly, comfortingly. I could hear the crack in her voice as she whispered once more, "Sorry", then the hand was gone and she turned away with a sniffle and a snarl.

The moment the door was shut behind her, I opened my eyes and yanked the IV line out with a sharp tug. I reached out for the empty glass bottle on the side and brought it up to my eye, reading the label, sodium pentobarbital. If she'd used the entire bottle, that was fifteen times a regular human's lethal dose. Even I'm not sure if my body could have resisted that, especially considering the drugs already running through my weakened system. It was more than likely that I'd have simply never woken up.

No time to ruminate or question, I needed to secure myself. Answers would come later or, at least, I hoped they would. I levered myself out of the bed, ignoring the pain in my chest and willfully suppressing a cough as I rose to my feet in a single smooth motion. I glanced at a dressing mirror to assess myself before scanning the room for tools or any sign of my gear or weapons. It was obvious that none of my equipment was present and that my condition, whilst serious, was manageable; my chest was entirely bandaged around and taped up but I could see no leaking of blood through them and the bruising was limited in scope. There was a faint hint of iron on my breath, from what I would suppose as residual blood in my lung, which meant I had to avoid nonessential strenuous activity but all in all, I'd come off rather well considering.

I wasted no more time and was out the door, closing it behind me with barely a click before I launched myself down the corridor, each barefoot stride padding down silently despite my bulk. The rushing air from my passage felt cooling on my skin and carried with it the scent of the nurse and many other unknown individuals mixed with the smell of oil, sweat and ozone from charge packs. The aroma was growing stronger as I vectored towards the stairs, bypassing dozens of rooms, the lit ones casting dim glows into the darkened hall.

As I pushed open the exit hatch to the stairs, I gripped onto the handle and applied some strength to lift it up and towards the hinges to help prevent any potential squeals. The crack of a suppressed weapon caused me to tense instinctively, eyes instantly locking on the double set of doors from whence it had come. The sign said operating theatre three. I paused. Two seconds, three. Then I heard her voice, the nurse's, saddened and sickened. "You didn't need to do that. I had already given him the shot.".

Another woman's voice responded, sharper, authoritative, certain, "This way is safer. These bastards are tough.".

"That's right." A third voice, male, responded. "Look, lady, trust us...".

I left, the voices first muffling beyond understanding and then out of audible hearing range altogether as I leapt down each flight of stairs. Every second of their conversation would buy me time to escape.

Descending to street level and then beyond, I followed the faint fragrance of recaf until I arrived at parking sublevel three and saw two soldiers standing by an armoured personnel carrier. One held a cup in his hand, the other the flask as he poured out some of the hot liquid. Their weapons were slung at their shoulders. Sloppy. They would be easy prey but the risks outweighed the potential gains; their vehicle was too obvious and trackable to be useful and they could miss a call-in at any moment which would give the game away sooner rather than later.

Watching their head and eyes movements, I carefully chose my moments to move, darting between parked vehicles and columns in short bursts as I skirted along the wall. Once I had made enough distance in the dark, I followed the exit signs to the underpass motorway and lost myself in the noise, traffic and smells.

Many years later.

Even our memorials had been purged. Intellectually, I had already known this before I set off but seeing this affront personally, it made an impact which I hadn't predicted. My lip curled in anger as I stared up at the monolithic plinth where the statue of one of our best generals had once stood. In his place, they had erected a sculpture of one of the new breeds of supersoldier. I didn't know or care which. I would not read the replacement plaques.

I shuddered as a series of wet coughs momentarily overwhelmed me, forcing me to hunch over as blood cascaded from between by teeth. Pulling out a rag from within the folds of my robes, I wiped the crimson liquid away and grimaced. Taking in a deep breath, I suddenly froze, the scent unmistakable. She was here.

The stiffness of age and degradation washed away as adrenaline flooded through my system once more. I straightened to my full height, standing head and shoulders above the people around me who at first recoiled in surprise at my stature and then simply gave me weird looks and then a wide berth. I scanned the crowd, turning a full circle before my eyes locked on the target I was looking for.

In less than a dozen strides, I had her by the throat. People in the area screamed and yelled but that all faded into background noise as I focused my whole being on her. She was much older now, hair entirely white, shrunken in form and with a blind right eye. So fragile, I could snap her neck entirely by accident. It would almost be a mercy, to spare her this decrepitude. I looked into her good eye and saw recognition there.

"You remember me." A statement, not a question.

She looked me up and down as best she could in my grip and her look of fear slowly morphed into one of pity and sadness. "Yes, I remember what you were.".

That cut me deep and maybe she knew it would but I ignored it anyway. I went to the heart of the matter. The question that I had wanted answered for all these decades. The one she might be able to answer before both her time and mine was up. "Why?".

Her look became one of confusion. "Why?". She lifted a frail arm and gestured with a trembling hand in the general direction of the Sanctum Imperialis. "The Emperor ordered it.".