Title: The Broken Soldier

Origin: F.E.A.R. 2 Project Origin

POV: Michael Becket

Type: AU (I seriously cannot stress this part enough)

Genre: Horror/Hurt/Comfort

AN: This is my first fan fiction so I apologize if it is subpar. I write for fun so I am not as serious as I should be. I have read a few of the F.E.A.R. stories and the ones I have read have impressed me. Anyway, like I said, I apologize if this is terrible. I just wanted to post something so I can become better at writing. If anyone is interested, I am planning to do another story that is far less canon than this one.

I love F.E.A.R. except for F.E.A.R. 3, which can burn for eternity in mediocre first person shooter with no plot Hell for all I care.

If you read this and liked it, let me know. Pointers and advice are definitely welcomed. Oh, and whatever you are called on this site, flamers? If you are so desperate to spread your anger, I truly do pity you. I will ignore you and I hope you find peace someday.

Disclaimer: F.E.A.R. 2 Project Origin and all related characters and elements are trademarks of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. I claim no ownership of anything nor do I plan to profit from posting this. I hope this is enough to avoid legal action against me.

Ch.1: Reflection

In basic training, I had been disciplined into a nearly autonomous weapon that could endlessly lay waste to the targets that my handler deemed a threat. Later, under the guidance of my deceased mentor, whose skull ski mask I now wore to cover my true face, I had been honed into a super weapon that could effortless annihilate any target that had incurred the wrath of my commander. I suppose that I have always been a soldier at heart. I live to serve and take life. Now, as I reflect, I wonder if I have simply traded one master for another.

If that were true, then it would make my decision to fight at the side of the living incarnation of homicidal rage slightly less reprehensible. After all, what sane human being would even consider submitting to the rule of a being like Alma Wade? The excuses I could generate to try to defend my actions would fill volumes. However, as I have come to realize, my actions were simply the eventuality of an anomaly amongst the planes of existence. While the other versions of us had all met gruesome yet fitting ends, we have walked our own path.

"Alma, get me out of here and I will burn the world if you want me to." That is what I had told her. At the time, I had no idea the ramifications that those words would have. If I had known, I wonder if it would have made a difference. I suppose that it does not matter. The world had indeed "burned" though surprisingly it was not by Alma's or my hand. Rather, it had been our hands and those of our Replica soldiers that extinguished the flames.

The Spartans: that is what we are called now. I laughed slightly for a moment as I recalled that it had originally been a joke between Sergeant Morales and myself that we called ourselves the Spartans. Who would have guessed that the label would eventually come to define who we were? I suppose a more interesting question would be who would have thought that Alma, the twisted vengeful goddess of death, would turn out to be the lesser of two evils?

As I sat against the now familiar weathered tree in the world that had been born from my coveter's childhood memories, I simply observed the two children happily frolicking in the meadow with eyes that had long since transformed to mimic the golden orbs of her eyes. The true child, our child, laughed with her innocent voice as she pursued her mother in a game of tag. Sitting beside me, a battle scarred Replica Heavy Trooper, with a distinctive cracked white ceramic mask, casually observed the two psychics as well.

My daughter definitely took after her mother with her pale skin, shiny raven hair that was cut the same way as her mother, thin frame, beautiful heart shaped face with a small nose, and, of course, her immensely powerful psychic abilities. The only trait that she seemed to have inherited from me was her eye color. The only way to tell the two apart when Alma was in her child form was the color of their dresses, the dress' sleeve lengths, and the subtle differences in their facial structures. While my paramour's tiny frame was shrouded in her infamous red dress, my daughter wore a simple short-sleeve white dress that reached her knees.

Meanwhile, her mother, whose features had been etched into my memory for all of her different forms, was actually laughing audibly and clearly for her daughter to hear. Her siren voice, with its hauntingly attractive tones, filled my mind nearly without reprieve. I always knew that there would be no sanctuary from her and as twisted as my mind had become, I found myself craving her attention. Just as she had become blindingly obsessed with me, I had followed suit.

Even I did not understand my uncontrollable attraction to her. She was a twisted, vengeful woman who was a powerhouse of pent up rage and psychic ability. To those who dared to resist her, she was death incarnate. To me, she was something much softer. Did I love her? With every fiber of my being, I wanted to believe that I did in fact love her.

However, even as smitten as I was, the last surviving bastion of my sanity steadfastly refused to approve of that idea. I had not forgotten what she had done to countless people including my squad and myself. I still had vivid nightmares of those hellish hours of absolute insanity and carnage. Most of all, my sanity pointed to what had occurred while I was strapped in the amplifier at Still Island.

After that incident, if I had known then how certain events would unfold to eventually lead me to want to desperately believe that I loved both the being responsible for my suffering and the being that was a result of our involuntary union, I would have lost my sanity trying to grasp that idea. I was so completely consumed by my own anger at the woman, who had not only destroyed my entire life in mere hours but also threatened to consume my very being, that the idea of loving her was so far beyond being comically absurd that to even fathom it was impossible.

In my rage-fueled attempt at revenge, I fought against her in an ultimately futile effort to deny her any form of happiness at my expense. However, as time went on, I found my will to resist her near constant and still potentially lethal attempts to interact with me diminish as my mental defenses rotted from the inside as my malnourished body began to cannibalize itself in an effort at self-preservation.

With her stunted understanding of the world, Alma did not realize she was starving me to death as she kept me locked in that mental prison. She thought my attempts to fight her off were cute and that we were simply playing a harmless game. Even as my weakened body started to shut down, she could not understand that even as much as she cared about me, she was killing me.

Not knowing the problem, namely her, she kept wanting to play games and refused to let me leave her mind. It took my overwhelmed body finally submitting to the forces of time for her to realize what she was doing to me. As I felt my mind slip into the abyss and nearly into oblivion, she brought me back to life just as she had done on the operating table.

After everything I had seen her do, it was a strange sight to behold as she stood trembling in fear as I regained consciousness in the amplifier. She was in her child form and that combined with the relief from the gnawing hunger I had been suffering from caused me to pause as I regathered my senses. After I had sufficiently gathered myself, I took in my surrounds. Meanwhile, my HUD readout re-calibrated after it indicated that it had been offline since Alma's assault. I was no longer strapped to the chair so I stood and made my over to where she was cowering against the wall. I smirked as I towered over her tiny frame.

I wanted to unleash all of my fury onto her. The primal urge to cause her suffering demanded me to satisfy its hunger. How dare she show weakness after torturing me to death? However, as I raised my right fist to deliver the first blow, she suddenly shrieked out, "Daddy no!" I froze at the sound of her voice. I had heard her mumblings and the occasional understandable statement but this was the first time I had heard real fear in her otherwise noteworthy voice.

I racked my memory for the name of the only person she had feared while she was alive. Harlan Wade, her father and also her torturer. The man who saw fit to abuse his own daughter just to make progress in his own sick science experiment. Even as my anger demanded satisfaction, I paused as I observed the fragile child bawling as she was curled up into a ball with her hands raised up to protect her face.

My anger melted as I recalled my own childhood. I often found myself in the exact same posture that she currently was in. I did poorly in school because I was too absorbed with trying to keep my father from beating me senseless to be bothered with such matters as homework or studying. My teachers just assumed my bruises were from games and that my poor attendance and grades were just the result of a student who did not take academics seriously. The military was a way to get away from the family I no longer wanted to have anything to do with.

As disgusted as I was with my weakness, I felt sympathy for this disturbed soul. Softening my approach, I bent down before her and extended my right hand. She cried out and flinched as my hand made contact with her tiny right shoulder. For a few tense seconds, I could feel the energy flowing from her body as she gathered her power to defend herself should I try to harm her. It surrounded both of us like a cloud of electricity and I could have sworn I literally saw the miasma that was threatening to snuff my life out should I misbehave.

Slowly, I began to rub her shoulder as gently as I could. Despite myself, I was awed by how soft she felt. I was nearly consumed by the desire to feel her cool skin against my hotter skin. I shook my head to clear my mind of such ridiculous thoughts. I may pity this woman, but I was not about to fall for her mind games. I had seen her play such games with my squad members. How she had drawn them in like a moth to a flame. I was not about to give her the same satisfaction. I knew she could sense my thoughts, but it still startled me when I heard her voice echo through my mind. "No trick. Love you."

I shook my head and said in a calm tone, "No you don't. You are just confused." I felt the miasma surrounding me thicken. Alma transported herself to be standing on her feet just inches away from me. Because I was still kneeling, her nose was almost touching mine. I shivered as I felt her frigid breath on my face. I had never been this close to her. At least, I had never been this close for a long enough period of time for me to take note of her various features.

For the first time, I noticed the beautiful glow emitting from her golden eyes. Her face was extremely captivating with her eyes and hair that hid most of her in a shroud. It made her more enticing. If I were a man of less moral fiber, I would definitely think of her as being attractive. She smiled at me as she sensed my thoughts and she relaxed. The air surrounding her was far less murky and laced with hatred. I finally was able to relax as my demise was now less imminent. Still not moving, she simply stared at me as if looking for something. Before I could say anything, I heard her voice in my mind. "Why hate?" I was stunned by her question. I knew she was stunted, but the true extent of how much she was had escaped me until that moment.

In a confused tone, I asked, "Are you seriously asking? You don't know why I hate you?"

She shook her head and said with her mind, "Tell me why."

Repressing my anger, I said, "You raped me after killing most of my team. You made me kill one of my squad mates. I cannot believe I let you get to me during the whole thing. I actually hesitated when Stokes ordered that we were going to kill you. I have never hesitated over an order. I actually considered putting you above my squad. I almost felt like I…" I stopped when I nearly blurted out the way I had felt about her just prior to the incident in the amplifier.

"Will you ever forgive me for those things?" My coveter's voice riled me out of my memories and I found her sitting in my lap and leaning up against my chest. I raised my arms up and wrapped them around her thin midsection.

I sighed as I pulled her closer and replied with my mind, "You know I cannot forgive you for those things. Some things are too terrible to be forgiven."

She nodded as she replied, "I understand." We watched our daughter continue to run around the endless meadow. Without looking away from her child, Alma asked, "She is happy right? We are safe and Armacham is gone?"

I recalled how only hours earlier, I had finally hunted down the last remnant of the corporation and killed every survivor with the assistance of the small army of Replica soldiers. I had killed a large number of the original Replica Force but with Alma's assistance, I had located pockets of surviving units. Later, as the need for soldiers grew, we had found means of creating more and more until we ended up with an army of super soldiers that was both loved and feared around the world. Leading them against those who sought to enslave us, I had led the charge against the corporation and anyone who dared to attempt to locate Alma and my child. When the world was set afire, it had been us, the outcasts and misfits, that had pulled humanity out of the black abyss of oblivion.

Though...it had come at a heavy price. Those of us that had survived the carnage were all marked somehow by the events that had transpired.

I turned Alma around so that she was facing me and kissed her softly despite her young form before assuring her, "Yes. She is happy and they are all gone. I am sorry about Paxton. He tried to possess me. I did what I had to do." She frowned briefly before her expression returned to her normal emotionless façade.

She remarked with noticeable sadness, "I know. My father corrupted him. I had hoped he would be strong enough to escape the clutches of greed but it consumed him before my eyes. I do not blame you for overpowering him. At least my first born was untouched enough by that company to choose his family over his programing."

"Speak of the devil." I remarked as the large man approached us. Despite the mask that he still wore, I could read the concern in his posture.

Alma, who was still struggling to communicate with her son, asked me, "What is going on?"

Looking away from Point Man, I said to her, "He is still a little on edge." I looked back at him and stated reassuringly, "Point Man, stand down. We have effectively destroyed their ability to mount an assault. All that is left are stragglers and I doubt that they are planning anything in the near future."

Beside me, the unique Heavy Trooper commented, "Actually Brother, by my estimates, there is only a fourteen percent chance that anyone will threaten Sparta within the next hundred years. Even then, our military is superior to anything that they could produce. It will take at least one hundred years for the world's population to recover and return to what it was nine years ago."

I asked, "What did you say the lifespan of the Replica was?"

He answered, "Well, technically we are all already perpetually immortal due to the stasis pods. However, given that Alma has rendered time meaningless here by trapping Fairport in a spatial anomaly...we will never age unless we travel outside of Sparta. So, our lifespans are now infinite...respectively."

I looked back at Point Man and then said, "See? No threat."

When the veteran remained unmoved, I sighed and asked Alma, "Alma, do you mind?" She smiled sadly as she nodded. Before I could blink, she returned us to the real world.