The world was ending, or so you'd think. If you weren't from around here, the destruction around you would be horrifying. Bits of tangled, blood soaked clothing and red-hot steel rained from the skies. Mutilated corpses scattered everywhere. The sky was supposed to be grey, but the never ending explosions in the sky painted it a reddish orange. This was a war zone. The 'privileged' never saw this world. The city in which they lived was a miracle of modern social engineering. The rest of the world was in shambles. It was a post-apocalyptic mess, with raging blood feuds and starving billions. The only secure land in the world was the City.

The City was a place worth protecting. A utopia of geniuses, playwrights, and scientists lived in the domed enclave. It took up a larger area than New York, the neighboring terrorist stronghold. Sleek, floating cars zoomed at hundreds of miles per hour, but there were no crashes. Scattered public art displays rivaled the achievements of Picasso and da Vinci. No one was ever imprisoned. No one committed crimes. This City was the last stronghold of civilization, and it was a picture-perfect one to boot.
The world outside was a different planet. A violent planet.
The former city of New York was the origin point of the constant barrage of drones that kept the City at a constant state of alert. The codename for the terror cult was the Red Mist, but we don’t know what they are. Whoever (or whatever) lived in that city must have acquired a massive supply of post-WWIII weaponry. The constant barrage of drones, missiles, and suicide pilots was unbearable for a City with only rudimentary force-field technology and a few thousand ground troops. The City created new weapons to defend themselves with: the Cyborgs.
In a massive leap of innovation, the City created superhuman, programmable units that had advantages of both digital and biological systems. Crippled or dying men and women were ‘converted,’ their muscles enhanced, memories lengthened, and their bodies turned into living, breathing weapons. Most had cameras instead of eyes, guns instead of hands, and a battery instead of a stomach. The Cyborg forces fought back drone swarms, saving the City.
In their efforts to develop soldiers who could control drone swarms and fight at a superhuman level, they experimented on cadavers that weren’t donated. How else could they have done it? They tried to reanimate them, Frankenstein-style. At best, the corpses were burned and charred beyond recognition. At worst, they were reanimated, but not repaired, like half-conscious zombies. There was this one guy who had part of his brain removed in cancer treatments before he died. He was brought back, screaming in pain, and delirious. They had to kill him, before he killed the researchers. People weren’t dying fast enough to replace the failed cyborgs, so they began poisoning people at random, trying to accelerate the death rate. At a certain point, they began implanting experimental components into conscious men who weren’t given painkillers. Many of these people ended up committing suicide, traumatized from the incident. These atrocities were classified, hidden from the public eye.
Without the cyborgs, the City would have fallen in just weeks, and the Red Mist would have won, and civilization would have disappeared. Although Cyborgs were responsible for guarding the City, they weren’t equals. Despite being the grandparents and cousins and twins of humans, they weren’t equals. Even though they devoted their lives to their City, they weren’t equals. Humans feared the cyborgs. They still do. However, change was around the corner.

* * *
My name is Drone Disposal Unit 4. For me, it was a normal day smashing up drones.
I built up to a sprint, and my metallic wings unfolded. Soon I was flying through the clouds. No more fun and games, I told myself. Time to do the dirty work. My robotic equipment opened up, a collection of lasers and homing missiles. I looked around. The hourly swarm had arrived. One drone was in my sights. I willed my implants to attack. Boom! The drone was gone.
The next drone came much closer. The white, tiny drone nearly rammed me head-on, and I met it. I wrapped my metal arms around it, tore off the wings, and chucked the surviving bits like a frisbee towards a swarming squad of 20 drones. The drones that were impacted exploded, and the chain reaction destroyed the rest.
The remaining drones, a collection of 500 or so, began rocketing around me in circles. I tried to punch through, but I bounced right off. One of my wings tore.
I panicked. I tried using the jet thrusters and afterburners to propel me over the swarm. I set my power level to 150%. I put all of my energy into the rocket.
Pain. Searing pain. I burned off my legs, and they looked like charred chicken fresh off the grill. I screamed. I screamed some more and then I, uh, 10101001011110101.…I, um….TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE: ERROR #20394. ENTERING RECOVERY MODE.

* * *
“Bring him back,” said the General. “He was one of my finest men. Err…Cyborgs.”
“He’s gone,” said the doctor. “His legs were fried up! His implants were torn apart! His entire freaking hard drive was removed and torn into dozens of little pieces!”
“So what?” the man said, through gritted teeth. “We have his genetic profile. We know exactly what implants he had. We have a backup of his hard drive from last year. Get him back.”
“But,” said the doctor, “is that ethical? I say let him rest in peace!”
The General’s frustrated look said all.
The doctor took out his phone and called the Body Shop. “I’m going to need a DDU4 unit. Hmn? Yup, again. Yeah. Okay. I don’t know why they keep replacing the goddamned cyborg, we got a million others. Okay. Just get it done!”

* * *
An explosion rocking a room. Shrapnel flying everywhere. The world fades away. Pain, searing pain. Blood everywhere. I am Henry Carter. Am I dying? Where am I? Darkness.
Weird instruments. Masked faces. Robots with automated tools working on my body. Pain, searing pain. Blood everywhere. What is this? Am I dying? Where am I? Darkness. Who am I? What am I?
BOOT SECTOR REBOOT. RECOVERING DATA. DDU OS booting up. Sensors calibrating. Audio processors working,  video feeds focussing. I am Drone Disposal Unit 004. I am a cyborg.
Or am I?