As you nod and trot steadily behind him through the thick underbrush, you try to recall what exactly the memorex told you...
History, mostly. Common social interfaces- Machinery, weaponry, agricultural products and byproducts. You recognized all of the names Kyle gave you, as well as the truth to his statements. You also now know the five basic languages, and some archaic pronunciations. Currently, those five languages are German, Neo-Latin, English, French, and Portuguese.
But what he said about you being a living weapon is particularly troubling. While moving, you begin to experiment with your extremities, testing flexibility, extension, and the like. Though it was a simple test, You found nothing out of the 'ordinary', as it were, save two two-inch bony barbs that came out from the backs of your hands reaching toward your fingers. They look hollow, like hypodermic needles, have the flexibility of a spring, and the strength of steel. This, you seem to know innately. This, it seems, is your only outward sign of 'mutation'.
"Oh, shit." Kyle has stopped now, and you see why. Ahead of you is a patrol- Two jeeps loaded with six soldiers each, all carrying fully automatic weaponry.
"Stay down... Unless you think you can handle these guys?" Kyle appears nervous about this.
[SUBJECT= KYLE LARSON]
[BLOOD TYPE- O+]
[CELLULAR AGE- 26]
[MUSCLE DENSITY AND GROUPINGS SHOW PREVIOUS TRAINING IN STRENGTH-RELATED DUTIES. REGIMENTED TEARS ON EACH INDICATES FORMAL MILITARY DUTY OR ACTIVE TRAINING.]
[PULSE- 82 BPM - PANICKING]
[RECOMMENDED ACTIONS -
... What the hell was that? You look around. Kyle's glove is off. He is touching your shoulder.
This is new.