Rose-colored glasses

Dark fingers squeeze the white camera, roughly pressing on its walls. The operator puffs noiselessly, clinging to other people's hands. Trying to get rid of the painful pressure on the systems. — Let go of the brat! The operator is twisting painstakingly, still diligently pulling out of the strong prostheses of this hybrid. His voice cut through the indistinct sounds of the camera and the rumble of the war behind them. The hybrid is breathing heavily through his teeth, continuing to press on the camera. "You and all your lousy fellows. You are an insignificant brat of canveyers and a fucking array. You see our blood, many of you have injuries and paddocks about it. Yes? If the droplets that you have ever seen have caused you such injuries, then look at the real world. Oh, I know. I know how you perceive this filthy world. So why don't you, yes! I'm talking to you! To all the bastards who are looking through this fucking lens of your stinking camera, this fucking report from the epicenter itself, at reality!? The hands roughly turn the operator around, clutching the panel cover with their nails, tearing it out with a bang. Fingers dig into the cluster of wires, painfully pulling out a small chip from under the focus unit. The system responded with errors, and a window about perception damage popped up on the screen. The hybrid roughly turns the operator around to itself. In front of the agent stood a scared, scared man, with a burnt skin, with a leaking eye, in place of which a bloody hollow was visible, long matted black hair resembled a washcloth rather than normal hair. His scared and scarred face, almost red-haired, blurted out everything that boiled into his lens. — Look at the fucker! What have your fucking creators done! What did those who implanted these "rose-colored glasses" into you on the assembly line? Roughly pushing the camera towards the battlefields, the hybrid began to breathe noisily, it was clear how much his hands were shaking, how the whole eye was nervously closing its eyelids, how the eye itself glistened and almost sobbed at the explosion. A shrunken and obviously unhealthy voice shouted at the operator. — Look at the bitches! Wine stains glistened under the black shoes. A long trail of bloody debris stretched along the road. The red-hot asphalt instantly dripped blood, and a stench of burnt flesh and rubber hung in the air, mixed with the acrid smell of methane and gunpowder. Fragments of porcelain and small wires mixed into shapeless masses with meat. Long, still damp organs stretched along the street. Smoothly and methodically tearing off pieces of himself while moving half of his body. On the asphalt, the remains of a skybidist, a head, a piece of a seat, some porcelain from the base and a mechanical prosthesis were crawling, smoothly pulling the remains of the body towards itself. The tank was smashed to pieces, behind it was a drain mechanism, on which, like a skewer, the men and organs were wound, trembling slightly, from the unfinished flushing process. Brown hair stuck together in disheveled and bloody strands, the skin was covered with bloody scum, the skin peeled off and fell to the asphalt in vile burning embers. The eyeballs were torn, nose, lips, eyelids: they turned into the most disgusting mixture of coal and blood. Despite his burned face, he spoke, his lips barely moving, whispering quiet words. — Forgive me all my sins, and put an end to my torments... He continued to crawl forward aimlessly, his rusty prosthetics scraping against the chipped asphalt. A lot of scattered organs, numerous scraps and half-dead bodies. They are not dead. Someone gasps convulsively, someone squeezes a wooden cross, clumsily carved from a stump of not the highest quality wood, into trembling aspen leaves. But the dead are not few. The bodies were smashed into rubbish, or they were half-rotted and decomposing mandibles, or very fresh stumps of limbs. "They have suffered their share" The camera slowly turns to the hybrid. The man was squeezing the muzzle of a battered pistol into his own chin, constantly trying to break his jaw. Bright tears rolled down his soot-blackened cheek, falling on his tattered clothes. The lips, covered with blood, slowly and with a terribly disgusting sound of tearing flesh, detached themselves from each other. — Goodbye, creature. Shot Silence