Part 3

Koltor in the halls of the Arboretum.

Koltor walked briskly, keeping to the far right edge of the corridor. Out of sheer force of habit, he was in complete military dress. White, starched overcoat, black pants, black boots, black belt, white flat-top military cap, and twin belt holsters for the standard military issue long-barreled ion pistols they let him keep along with his rank when he was "discharged with high honors." They said it was because the war was over and he didn't need any more danger in his life. He had served his sovereign well. 

He had been discharged with honors. In other words, they didn't want a cyborg with high military power.

Back stiff, gloved hands clasped behind him, he looked every inch the FlightAdmiral. No one would have looked twice at him before. He had been part of the scenery, one of hundreds of smartly dresses cadets striding through the halls of the Arboretum. Now, not one person passed him without a glance, whether an embarrassed, fleeting look, or if they just gawked openly. The military clothes hid most of the metal, but still… Staring straight ahead, his jaw was clamped tightly shut, longing for the days when he had been part of the furniture. You would think he would have gotten used to it. You would think they would have gotten used to him. 

But who could get used to a face like his?

Walking through the doors to the empty sky deck, he let the stiff posture slide from his body. Habit kept him standing tall, but the military born formality left him as leaned up against the railing that rimmed the deck. Looking out through the shatter-proof safety glass dome a few feet in front of him, Koltor brought his two human fingers up to his face. He lightly felt the ragged scar tissue that led into the mechanical workings that began just right of his nose bridge. His green eye had been replaced with a steel orb that glowed reddish-grey from a metal socket. Wires and platelets made up the rest of his face, arm, side, and hip. No armor-like covering for him. No, he had to have the latest cutting-edge technology, and that meant the innovative new style that worked more efficiently with fewer breakdowns and repairs. Heroes of the military did not get cheap models. They had to have the best.

He looked like a bared engine. Like a freak.

He had scared away his fiancée with his "cutting-edge technology."

Was he even human anymore?