Tears fell from the shackles of the young man as he looked up to the so-called “sages.” Fury ignited in his heart as he was flooded with muscle memories of a battle never fought. “No more Samsara cycles. I have my memory, my hatred, their promises…” Like a war-torn soldier, he readied himself. “This time don’t bother praying, I am here to kill your god.” -- Anon Guest
Once in a great while, perhaps every century or so, someone thinks that war would be perfect if they could just make the soldiers who fought it perfect. That is the sole idea behind The Enlisted Man. That goal is impossible, given all the critera. But that never stops someone thinking they're special enough to make it work this time.
The perfect soldier must be able to fight in all circumstances with all weapons. They must be able to survive things that would incapacitate normal mortals. They must have a lot of intimidating muscle, which require energy, yet be able to survive for a week on a single cricket and the dew that gathers in their hair. They must, especially, be smart enough to interpret the spirit of their commander's orders, but dumb enough to follow their letter when necessary. As well as being able to telepathically interpret which is needed and when.
It's no great shock that every single Enlisted Man has turned against their creators.
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