Chapter 4 - Arson

I can't remember my original name nor my childhood. Did I have loving parents? I don't know why it is so hard to remember this period of my life. Whenever I try to do so, my brain says it will hurt, better to forget it.

The earliest memories I have are explosions, lots of explosions. Cities were burning, the skies were filled with numerous columns of smoke. It felt like the end of the world. There were floating space ships in the sky, firing at each other.

I was on a flying passenger shuttle watching all of this mayhem through the window. The aircraft I was in had a lot of panicking passengers. They screamed and cried as they witnessed the devastation occurring below us.

We were supposed to land in that same city below us. The pilot decided to find a safer airport to land. As he turned the aircraft around, a stray shot from the spaceship battle hit us. The pilots were gone, so was half the shuttle.

Everything went dark as we fell towards the Earth. I guess I passed out from the G-force or from the fear.

I vividly recall waking up beneath a pile of corpses, suitcases, and passenger seats. Somehow I survived the crash, unlike the rest of the passengers. I clawed my way out of the decaying heap and sucked in a lung full of foul air.

Dry blood, dirt, and ash covered my whole body. Jet fuel burned all around the crash site, which happened to be the city's downtown shopping district.

The streets were empty of life. There were no bodies other than the ones I came out from. I could see and smell the metallic blood stains covering the pavement, walls, and vehicles. Something killed them and dragged their bodies away.

It took a lot of effort to stand up and walk over to the clothing store that managed to survive the devastation. Inside I found a functioning water dispenser and drank to my heart's content. Once I quenched my thirst, I proceeded to the washroom to clean myself up and visit the loo.

After that was done, I found a mirror and took a good look at myself.

I was a young man, maybe in my late teens, but the face I saw had aged horribly from what I experienced, or perhaps it has always been like that.I was wearing a black hoodie and ripped jeans. Other than that, I had nothing else on me. It looked filthy, I needed to change into something that didn't scream, I survived a near-death experience.

I 'borrowed' some clothes of the racks in the store's men's section and a bag filled with cash from the check out counter.I don't know why I needed a bag full of cash, but it seemed a natural thing to do.

Once I left that store, my memory becomes hazy. I think I wandered around the place for days, scavenging for preserved food from grocery stores, fast food joints, and restaurant freezers. I slept in any VIP room of a building that didn't look like it would collapse. Who was there to arrest me?

There was this feeling of being watched by some creepy crawlies at night.  At first, I thought I was paranoid, but I noticed something was missing when I revisited the crash site. All the dead passenger bodies had disappeared.

I found weird footprints all around the wreckage, claw marks on the metal, and an odd smell from a sticky goo leading towards the sewers.

I decided to 'borrow' some self-defense weapons just to be safe. My weapon of choice was a Jet fueled Flamethrower from the local warehouse belonging to the underworld gangsters who I presumed disappeared along with everyone else.

I assume that was their profession. Otherwise, how could they have stored so much ammunition and illegal contraband?

It just felt right to burn things! I played around with it until I found a cache full of grenades, flashbangs, rocket launchers, and smoke pellets. This was the motherload of all things that made me sleep soundly at night.

Thank the heavens, I armed myself because I encountered the creepy crawlies a few days later. I scared most of them off with the Jet fueled flame thrower and blew up the remaining with a few grenades in their open mouths. Once the threat was gone, my nose picked up on a salivating aroma from the dead burned up bodies.

These things were delicious when you grilled them just right. I hadn't had fresh meat or bug meat in forever! Spending so many weeks living on canned food was driving me crazy.

I decided to hunt those delicious bugs down as a daily task if I wanted to feel safe at night and keep my stomach satisfied. Sadly they became harder and harder to find as the weeks passed. It came to a point where I prayed to see a big juicy bug. I think there was something addictive about their meat. I didn't want to eat anything else as they all tasted bland in comparison.

I lived that life for two years before an armed convoy from the United Earth Defence Force rolled into the city and found me in a jacuzzi. They also found several dozen bags of cash, gold bars, precious stones, and credit cards.

The soldiers looked at me like I was a criminal even though I collected the stuff from a deserted city with a population of one person, and that person was me.

They cuffed me and threw me into a trailer filled with other scavengers who the soldiers referred to as survivors from other cities. I found out from these 'survivors' that Earth was invaded by Martian Bugmen, and the city I was in was designated a dead zone.

The soldiers drove us all to a military base. Once inside, I pleaded with the interrogators that I was innocent, and my only guilt was pure ignorance. I thought they were appalled that I resorted to a scavenger life or 'life of crime' in the dead zone. I tried to argue it wasn't a crime if it was an empty city. Apparently, that wasn't what they were appalled by.

It was the fact that I survived there for so long by consuming the Martian Bugmen. Although I did not consume what they referred to as Soldier Class or high noble class. I was munching on the worker class, which only appeared in areas that have been conquered by the Bugmen.

For some reason, no other human has ever found it appealing to eat their corpses. They looked at me like I was a monster. Hey! I was ignorant, alright! Is that a crime as well? Is what I thought but didn't say aloud out of fear of being criminalized.

They performed serval medical examinations on my body to see if there was something unique about it. It turns out, I really was addicted to the Martian Bugmen. The more we talked about the bug meat, the more I needed to have my daily fix of it.

The people in the base's research station wanted to detoxify me by placing me in an isolated room for a month. I nearly died from starvation as I refused to eat anything else other than what I craved for. To keep me alive, they would drop some bug meat they collected from the samples stored in their labs for research purposes.

They tried making other people eat like me to see if this is a common trait. Sadly no one else seemed to share my interest in taste.The scientists even tried to get me addicted to other stuff, which is harmful to humans, but I vehemently refused.

I may not remember my family, but I was raised right by saying no to drugs, cigs, and alcohol.

They even resorted to getting me to believe in a religion and find god to consider it a sin to eat bug meat. I told them there is only one god I recognize, and his name is Bugmeat. I shall not compromise my beliefs.

Two months later, I was discharged as being clinically dependent on Bugmeat for survival.I was free, but I was also hungry. I had no way to access bug meat since I was kicked out of the lab where they stored it. I sat in front of the research lab, begging them to take me back in and feed me.

The military heard of from the lab about my unique condition. They reviewed my hunting and fighting skills developed during my stay at the dead zone city. I think they were satisfied with my skills since they offered me a spot in a unit specialized in tracking and destroying Bugmen nests.

The deal was I get to eat what I kill. I agreed to it wholeheartedly without waiting to hear about the daily stipend, rules, and regulations. Nothing else mattered to me as long as I get what I desire the most in this world.

They provided me a standard mech equipped with an assault rifle, but it didn't fit my fighting style. So I requested some changes to its loadout and soon had a Mech equipped with wrist-mounted Jet Flame throwers. It also carried a large number of grenades that fit my fighting style perfectly.

I ended up with the call sign Arson. Most of the men from my unit called me Arson the Bugeater when they referred to me. One would think this name would make me depressed, but I didn't mind it at all. I loved my job and loved my delicious pay.

I served in the hunter unit for three years before it was disbanded. We had the highest attrition rate of any company and had a dry pool of fresh recruits who sought to join us. I almost became the Captain of the unit by default. Sadly, once disbanded, I was reassigned to an independent patrol unit to search for human survivors in dead zones.

I knew where to look for them, given my experience. I also knew where the worker class bugs would be hiding out. I killed and snacked on the bugs while conducting my searches.

I managed to round up at least a few thousand people over five years. Doesn't sound like a lot, but 'Dead Zone' was termed that way for a reason. Nothing survived in those places for long. As the years went by, the number of dead zones kept increasing at a pace I couldn't keep up with.

I didn't have a habit of keeping up with the news about the war. I didn't have many friends either. Eating bug meat repelled many people, I never understood why my tastebuds were so unique.

The flamethrower style of combat and my call sign discouraged many potential friendships. Who would want to be friends with an arsonist? Maybe another Arsonist?

Sadly, I never came across one who shared my interests. According to an emergency broadcast, the human race would soon be extinct.

To my surprise, a transport drone soon landed in the dead zone I was patroling to deliver me a highly important package.

The military HQ had judged that my DNA and memories were worthy of being part of the Clone Troopers, who would fight to restore humanity on a different planet.

I was confused. Why was I selected? Didn't they know about my addiction? What if this world had no Bugmen? What would I eat?

I was about to throw the package away when I noticed something written on the back of it. A note stating the Cradle ship would only clone me if there were bugmen to eat.

I immediately donated my blood and saved my memories without hesitation.

Then the world went dark.

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