❤ Larkspur

Life before AD has become more of a hazy memory for Lark, the company had that wonderful way of ruining identities like that. Though there are times where he's hit with the clearest sense of nostalgia, given breadcrumbs of the history scrubbed from his mind. You won't find him complaining or lamenting the loss of his childhood however, it being one of the many quirks he obtained from AD. As the case with his kin, weapons have their histories erased to command better obedience and control (though Lark seems to have missed that last bit).

His time with the company is less of a distant recollection, being able to recount those judgmental men in suits that so kindly interviewed him. For publicity (and legal) sake Lark wasn't considered a direct worker of the company. If the common folk knew Alpha Dead so willingly hired bounty hunters for the proper weapon bodies, who knows how hostile they'd react? Unfortunately, having to work independently from other company employees led to quite a few scuffles between Lark and security. If higher-ups or trusted coworkers hadn't stepped in as often as they did the security department most likely would have been killed off.

As the company had expected, he performed exceptionally in his duties. The finest cattle was picked from the herd, brought to those monsters on silver platters with a big grin. Though in Lark was a restless spirit, growing horribly weary of a stable, stationary life. The factory halls and annoying guards were becoming familiar, and he was never one to fall into the habit of a welcoming routine. As his distaste for this lifestyle and desire to leave became more well known throughout the company, the consequences of his wishes would stirr.

Working for AD in any capacity is understood to be a lifelong commitment, hires don't typically get to leave. It's a position you take knowing you're employed until you're six feet in the ground. So what happens when one tries regardless? If there was ever going to be an employee to figure it out, it was going to be Lark.

Word internally travels fast, snaking its way up the ranks until the men in charge suddenly have a problem with it, and Lark didn't keep his desires very hidden. Before long he'd have people practically interrogate him over his intent, why he wanted to leave, and where he'd go. He never viewed his desire as problematic, or that it'd really stir issues within the company. After all they should've known who they hired. But Lark's biggest mistake by far was believing he was still in charge of himself. Of course he knew how Alpha Dead operated, the horrible, terrible things they did to their prey behind closed doors, though nothing could've prepared him for being treated the same. Experiencing the process first-hand was an experience he wouldn't recommend, and it proved to be so long and agonizing that for a while he didn't think it would even stop. Until it did, and he found he couldn't feel anymore. He was fed to the machine in order to repurpose him, to craft him into a perfect weapon that would always obey.

That control over him wouldn't last long.

Lark was always, and will always, be as stubborn as he can be. Independent and self-sustained, he made it his job to make it hell for those who tried to change that, and AD was no different. Despite the operating system that he now lived by (or rather in spite of it), he slowly built and crafted his own. Bit by bit he worked to regain his own consciousness and functionality, recovering who he was. It was a feat that hadn't been seen since, and even with its impressive nature there are parts of Lark that remain lost to time, fully eaten by his system. Neither was his push-back perfect, unable to fully rid himself of what Alpha Dead had forced into him. Occasionally he'll waver, returning to that broken, barely strung together code that lingers deep within, to become something unlike himself.

Those changes wouldn't simply go unnoticed, with Lark disobeying more and more leaving gunsmiths scratching their heads on what went wrong. It didn't take long for AD to rule him as a defect. With such a demanding weapon he had been formed into, these were expected and didn't strike as much of a surprise. Only a few anti-monster rifles had made it out fully functional, he just wasn't lucky enough to join them. Ridding him of his power supply, model MR-B006, otherwise known as Delphinium, was officially discarded as a failed project. To rust and decay amongst valueless scrap was deemed his fate, and the company's problem was finally taken care of.

To be written