Survival

He stands among the wreckage, gun smoking in his hand, and he’s never felt less human.
An hour ago, he’d never fired a weapon. Unremembered training took over. Advanced arms tactics came like second nature. Now, only he remained.
There was no fear. There should have been, but wasn’t. It was a gap in his mind, a shape defined only by its absence, like a hole where a tooth had been.
Mark Baker. His creator’s name- his name. Too human. Doesn’t fit him.
From the ruins, a lizard darts towards safety.
Lizard. Another survivor.
As good a name as any.