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"Next specimen for processing."
Leo jerked against the restraints as the technicians approached, training taking over before conscious thought. Steel bit into his wrists but he couldn't stop fighting.
Couldn't face what was coming.
"Standard identification protocol." One technician read from a clipboard, not even glancing at his struggles, "T0842 requires permanent marking for inventory purposes."
"Don't." The word tore from Leo's throat before he could stop it.
They didn't even pause in their preparations. The tattoo machine whirred to life as latex hands positioned his arm with mechanical efficiency.
Leo's muscles strained against the restraints until his shoulders screamed with effort.
"I said don't touch me!" The words came out raw. Desperate.
One technician made a note on the clipboard.
Just another data point.
"Get off me!" Leo thrashed as they cleaned his bicep, as they positioned the needle.
The first touch of ink against skin made him jerk violently. Made something in his chest crack open.
"Note muscle tension for the record." One technician spoke to another as they forced his arm still, "May affect line quality."
They discussed technique while Leo fought. While he snarled and twisted.
While they unmade him piece by precise piece.
T0842.
Each black line burned deeper than any blade. Each stroke marking him as something owned. Something less than person.
Another note on the clipboard. Another clinical observation of his desperate struggles.
Another piece of him shattering as they branded him with his new identity.
"Standard barcode application proceeding normally." The technician's voice was distant through the roaring in his head, "Subject resistance noted but not interfering with marking quality."
Subject resistance.
Like his fight meant nothing. Like his protests were just noise.
Like he wasn't even person enough to acknowledge.
Bile rose in his throat as he watched those clean black lines appear. As he felt each precise stroke mark him as property.
As everything he was dissolved under geometric precision.
Leo's vision blurred as shame crashed through him. Hot and thick and choking.
Just property to be marked.
Just inventory to be tagged.
"Standard aftercare instructions." More notations on the clipboard, "Monitor for infection for 48 hours."
They hadn't even been cruel about it. Hadn't tried to break him.
They'd just... marked their property.
That night, alone in his cell, Leo traced those marks with trembling fingers. Felt the slight raise of fresh scarring that would forever brand him as something owned.
The first sob caught him by surprise. Tore from his throat before he could stop it.
His shell scraped against concrete as he tried to claw the mark off. As he tried to tear away evidence of what they'd made him into.
What his fighting couldn't stop.
What his protests couldn't change.
Blood ran down his arm but he couldn't stop. Couldn't face what those clean black lines meant.
What he was now.
Not Leonardo anymore.
Not warrior. Not brother. Not son.
Just another specimen. Another piece of property.
Another thing to be tagged and filed away.
Something to be owned.
Something to be documented.
He pressed his forehead against the floor, shoulders shaking with sounds he hadn't made since he was a child.
With shame that ate at his very soul.
Property of Earth Protection Force.