♔♚♟♙♔♚♟♙♔♚♟♙
Something was dripping. Steady. Antagonizing. Mocking. I hated it. But it never stopped. It figured. C’est la vie, I supposed. At least, my life.
Home was a place of comfort and safety, of security and peace and refuge. It was a place for fun, for struggles, for growing up and learning. I no longer knew of any home. Not for quite some time.
The atmosphere was musty, similar to a basement. The air was thick, clogging my lungs, my pores.
What a dreadful place.
But it was my home. It’d been my home for almost eleven years. Not the most accommodating location, but I wasn’t about to complain.
I’d already tried that. All I got was beaten, relentlessly so. Though it became numb after a while, the act wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed.
Punishment was not the proper response. It wouldn’t teach me. I’d been beaten by my father more times than I could count. After that, it would never affect me. I was numbed. This operant conditioning would not be effective, yet they continued to apply it.
I lived a lonely existence. Pitiful and alone. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen the light of day, danced in the sunshine and relished in the crisp air.
Granted, I’d never done that prior to being kidnapped and stuffed down here, but it was an experienced treasured by every normal child, wasn’t it?
I sighed.
I am Cyrus Alatum, and I had always been far from normal.
Never had I been close to touching the standards of society. Mother always said I was born far above it. She told me to relish my skills, to flaunt them as if I were an athlete or an artist.
She said it was a gift. But she didn’t know the truth. Her so-called “gift” was a curse. What a cliche, that is, yet it’s the truth. It’d been the foundation for torture, for inhumane experiments on the innocent.
It was my fault.
Cursed. Such an ugly word. My abilities had once been regarded with grand appeal, considered remarkable for a boy so young. I was praised, cherished, honored and commended. All that changed with a simple dream.
Ever since I was young, all I’d wanted was to help others. Find a cure for cancer, perfect cloning, rid the world of AIDS. They were but a few of my goals, and they’d been in reach for some time.
Biology had always been my specialty, but in the moment of truth, it became my downfall.
I shivered. Though it was delicious, the fresh air the scientists pumped in, it carried an ungodly chill. My body, weak and unaccustomed to harsh conditions, couldn’t cope with sudden temperature changes.
My keepers fed me, but only enough to keep me functioning. I was kept on a strict 800 calorie diet. It was hardly enough for one to survive, but with the vitamins they shoved down my throat, I managed to remain on this earth.
Sometimes I couldn’t determine which existence would be better. Life or death. Suffering or eternal peace. Or eternal suffering. Perhaps my crimes against humanity would land me in the darkest pit of Hell. Who knew? It would only serve me justice.
I was given water, but not much. Two glasses each day, given at exactly 8:30 AM and 6:43 PM. They’d conditioned my body not to need as much. Did that make me stronger? I thought not.
I’d been on the brink of pure starvation for years; it wasn’t much of a mystery as to why I felt the threat of hypothermia upon me; creeping over me, crawling along my skin.
I curled in on myself, being mindful of the chains that bound me and scraped against the chiseled cement. The metal was frigid against my skin, preventing me from sharing any warmth I produced to my hands and feet.
I was a prisoner, wrongfully so. Imprisoned for glory, for money. For evil.
Sighing, I cradled my head in my hands. Never had I wanted this existence. Never had I expected everything go so off track.
The more I dwelled on my condition, the harder it became to contain my emotions. I’d worked to disguise them, to hide them from sight, but there was no point. The scientists mocked me no matter what I did.
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
All these thoughts of the past, of my greatest mistakes, led to my reason for concocting my original idea. My greatest regret. My fear and sorrow. My other half.
Griffin.
I’d only wanted to make him see how much I cared. I wanted him to be happy for once. He always acted so... inferior. So despondent. As if he felt I dominated the respect and love of our parents.
He was delusional, but I’d never been able to convince him otherwise. His imagination was something I’d craved and desired for all of my existence; yes, I had the “brains” of Einstein, but to be a child was all I wanted. Even Einstein held imagination over intelligence. I wanted what Griffin had been endowed with since birth.
Now, he was dead. I’d seen him perish at the hands of that bastard scientist. After all he’d endured, the torture he was subjected to, his life had been cut short. At least he no longer suffered.
I vowed to get my revenge one day. Counting on the hope that I’d escape from this hell hole eventually.
I wish I could apologize. Though that wouldn’t suffice. I wish I’d taken your place, Griffin. Maybe you would have made something out of your life. Maybe you wouldn’t be stuck in a prison cell, tortured and neglected, like some crude recreation of Mandela. I only wish things had happened differently.
My wishes were met only by silence.
What was left of my deteriorating muscles grew stiff. With a stifled groan, I shifted, stretching my legs out. Behind me arose the scraping of metal against concrete. A reminder of my failure.
They glinted in the dim glow of the lantern.
A skeleton.
Steel bones to create the foundation for wings.
Empty and hollow.
A failure.
Useless.
I hated to recount my past, but it was the only way I continued to fight. I’d been the first test subject. Griffin had been the second. I’d created the plan. It was my idea.
It was my fault.
People had died, not by my hand directly but as a result of my studies.
My fault. My fault. Myfault; myfault.
Lives were uprooted, twisted and corrupted.
Myfault myfault myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault.
A swift blow to my cheek snapped me out of my repetitive mantra. I found myself thankful for my instinctive slap.
No. No it wasn’t my fault, not entirely.
I wanted to bring happiness.
They wanted money and fame.
I was the innocent child with a distorted view of the world.
They were the malicious ones who knew just how to abuse innocence in a way that would benefit them.
I sighed. No matter how much I wanted to share the truth with the world, I would never get the opportunity. I’d be forever trapped in this dungeon. I would die here. I would never get a chance to redeem myself.
Why? Why had my plans been contorted so? I was but a child. Immature and insane. Driven mad with hope.
“Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.”
Wise words, Alighieri. Hope only holds us back. Hell is eternal. Life is not. But which is better? That’s one thing you neglected to answer. But I believe I’ve figured it out myself.
Heartless. Those men and women were heartless, of that I was certain from the start.
They killed my parents. They killed our parents. And for what? To subject my dear brother to torture and agony for hours on end just to kill him once they were done.
Only... he’d been a success. I was the failure.
He’d been given the ability to fly, to soar among the clouds. I was cursed with these... things on my back.
Useless.
They should have killed me. They should have killed me on sight.
A scream sliced through my mental banter. Right on schedule. Torment. My memories. I could stand to exist without these reminders, but they were the only reminders of my family.
“Cyrus!” His voice was desperate as it always had been.
Why, Griffin? Why did your last word have to be my name? Why would you leave me with this regret?
Griffin, it never helped you to scream my name. It made matters worse for the both of us. Over and over you’d repeat it. I’ve wished I could have helped you. If only I’d done more. If only I’d been wiser.
“Akira!”
I opened my eyes. That was new. The potential werewolf subject, one of the very first experiments, was one my brother had never met. Griffin had been out of the labs long before Corners had been admitted... hadn’t he?
Confused, I fought to crawl to the door of my cell, rising onto my knees painfully to grasp for the bars that served as a window. The end of my radius, right near my wrist, jutted out from the skin, the rest of my arm just as gaunt and sickly.
Still I stretched, but the bars were a good two feet above my reach.
All was silent. As I should’ve come to expect, insanity had crept closer, sliding over me without my conscious realizing.
“Griffin is dead, you fool,” I murmured, voice hoarse and gravelly. I rarely spoke aloud these days. I had no one to talk to aside from the scientists who delivered my provisions. “You’re slipping.” Or have I already?
Heavy footsteps came from around the bend. “Got your food for the day, Mr. Cyrus.” Gary Redwood, while as evil as the rest, seemed to carry a kindness I couldn’t understand. He was a new recruit, having joined not two months previously. He’d be molded into a perfect scientist soon enough. They never lasted long. “I snuck you a double.”
“Why are you here?” As he slid the tray through the flap at the base of the door, I couldn’t help but blurt my inquiry. Though I’d grown up with a natural accent, it’d long since dissipated. I sounded almost American, but at the same time, it was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Perhaps troglodyte?
After a brief pause, he barked a laugh. “Well, we couldn’t very well let you starve, now could we?” His voice was gruff and deep, carrying a warm Southern accent that was largely out of place in this dungeon. I took a long swig of the dusty water he provided.
“Not what I meant.” He peered through the bars. “What are you doing in XL? Why did you join? What are your reasons? What could be the reward for partaking in this? What will become of me? And the others?” Now that my throat wasn’t as dry as the Sahara, there was a newfound power in it. I gripped the bars tighter.
“That’s a story for another day, Mr. Cyrus,” he said, turning on his heel. “You shoul’n’t be pryin’.”
“Wait!” I commanded. To my surprise, he stopped. “If you can’t tell me that... could you provide me with something to read? You wouldn’t believe the boredom I’ve endured after, what has it been, eleven years now?”
He seemed... almost appalled. “Eleven years?”
I couldn’t keep the smirk off my face. “You’ve got a lot to learn, haven’t you?”
Recovering, he donned a neutral expression. “I’ll get you the files. They’re the only thing to read around here. They closed off the library a few years ago, said it promoted individual thinkin’ or somethin’.” Ah, yes, this place was a scale model dystopia. Wonderful.
Blowing off my other, more pressing questions, he stormed away, returning five minutes later with a stack of at least two hundred manilla folders.
“Some aren’t very pleasant,” he warned, sliding them under the door.
“You’d be surprised at what one considers ‘pleasant’ after years of torture, Mr. Redwood.” His expression remained blank. I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Gary.”
“Don’t mention it.” After turning around once more, he tossed a glare over his shoulder. “Seriously. Don’t.”
Then, he was gone. It was like all the scientists were bipolar. Almost nice one minute, hateful the next. I would never understand them, nor did I wish to. They all disgusted me.
As soon as he left, I slid back to the floor, legs quaking, too weak to support me. God, why couldn’t they just break my legs? It’d be about the same, really, only I wouldn’t try.
I wiped off the spoon he’d provided, digging it into the measly bowl of rice. Nothing. This is nothing. Not enough to survive, yet here I am. I can’t even taste this. What’s the point of giving me “doubles”? You’re keeping me alive, but just barely. This is so sick. I hate you. I hate you all.
The spoon clattered to the tray.
But I hate myself even more.
Having lost my appetite after the first bowl, I downed the glass of water before pushing the tray under the door. It left a grainy feeling in my throat no better than that of being parched.
Now, I turned my attention to the files.
“They’ve been busy,” I muttered, shaking my head in despair.
Gary hadn’t been lying. There were hundreds of these files. Hundreds of innocent—or mostly innocent—youths who’d been exposed to torture and misfortune. Some were children when their “treatment” began, others in their teens. Some hadn’t been a year old.
Though nausea threatened me, I bit it back. There was no point in vomiting the meager amount of calories I’d consumed. Besides, I needed to learn. They’d stopped informing me of their patients long ago.
I needed to know.
So, I read.
And read.
I spent hours pouring over the documents, committing the names and traits to memory. The dark crept in slowly, but it didn’t matter. I’d grown accustomed to the darkness. I didn’t need much light to read. The dark had once been my greatest fear, but after years of submitting to its will, I’d found it to be my only friend.
While I knew it’d been bound to happen, coming across Griffin’s file was still a shock. Even more so when my mind finally processed what I was seeing.
The most recent treatment: 25 October, 2012. That was... today, according to Gary’s earlier visit. That meant...
He was... alive. He was here.
The picture was recent as well. His face, solemn yet peaceful, was still marred by those three lines, now permanent, parallel scars.
I felt like jumping for joy. If only I could.
My brother... alive. After all these years.
He’d joined some group. A club. He’d finally made friends, or so I assumed. He was alright. He’d survived.
Maybe I had heard him earlier. Oh, Griffin. I’m so happy.
I sat the files down, heart thundering in my chest. In the silence, I was sure it would burst.
Eyes heavy and mind racing, I curled onto my side, scooting as far from the door as I could.
Maybe there’s still hope.
And with that, I closed my eyes.
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Weeks passed. Perhaps it’d been months. It must have been; the air had become significantly warmer. Was it a hot spring? Or an average summer?
I couldn’t be sure. I held fast onto the sliver of hope I’d been provided with. It was all I had left to maintain my sanity.
Every day, I’d reread the files. I never relinquished them. They were mine. I refused to share. They became my living companions. If I ever had the opportunity to meet them, I doubted I’d be able to speak, but the idea was enough.
Their names blurred together in my mind, coupled with their “breed” and their histories. I had no need to research any information or legends regarding their species; I’d conducted it long ago when I first constructed their physiologies. I knew what they were. I created them.
The information was rather limited, most whited out. It disappointed me, but I knew the completed files were somewhere in XL. Somewhere.
Their stories were similar, from what I could tell. Parents were either killed off, missing, involved in XL, or were XL agents. Granted, the ones who continued to associate themselves with Xenogenesis weren’t the subjects’ real parents, but they wouldn’t know any better.
Some were more tragic than others. Griffin’s story was one of the most devastating, but he wasn’t the only one to have a troubled past.
There were homeless children and those involved in terrible accidents. A girl who’d lost her legs in a terrorist attack was given a new life and the legs of a fast animal, namely those of a cheetah. Some were orphans. Others were runaways. Many just had rough family lives and dysfunctional childhoods. No matter what their past, they all had endured a tragedy or more.
And how they became what they were was awful. Awful yet fascinating.
The hybrids’ extra appendages were nothing more than metal skeletons, much like the ones on my back, but theirs were covered in a faux skin. Nerves, ripped from other experiments or deceased animals, were woven with the skeletons first along with computer chips that helped the experiments control them. A leathery layer, resembling thin muscle tissue, followed. Then a thicker layer of tissue, grown in labs rather than harvested, was placed atop the fake muscle, and a final layer of anesthetic skin, implanted with fur if necessary, finished it.
Some of them were trickier, but fairly easy. The vampires had chips installed in their canines that sent shockwaves, translated into raw pain, every now and then. Their digestive systems had been altered so blood could be consumed. The sensitivity to sunlight was all in their heads. The worst that could happen was a nasty sunburn. Aside from the one vampire, whose body aged rapidly because of a new chemical designed to speed up metabolism, they were the same. That vampire believed she could switch between human and “vampire” form, and the only indication to others, and herself, that this was true was a slight pigmentation change and iris color change, controlled by yet another microchip.
Shapeshifters weren’t quite as simple. It’d taken many years for XL to master the art of morphing a body into a different form relatively quickly. Pain wasn’t considered. It wasn’t even a true transformation. None of the organs were altered, nor did the bones shift into a different skeleton; it was agonizing, yes, but when the experiments “shifted,” it was nothing more than a compression of bones that made for the change. For smaller creatures, such as the Puca’s cat form, it was only a matter of widespread illusion. Sure, he did in fact resemble a cat, but his size remained the same. It was tricky business, but XL had associates—and money. They didn’t grow a snout or paws. “Hair” sprouted to cover their bodies, but it was artificial. Still, the research cost many lives, and the final product was far from easy.
Then came the creatures like the Bakru, the Zombie Doll and the Diwata. Their skin had been blanketed by other material. While it still existed beneath the new additions, it wouldn’t be able to be removed without serious pain, effort and scarring.
Among the most difficult creations were the Changeling, the Pyroead, and the literal Dragons.
The Changeling, with her ability to levitate and manipulate the elements around her seemed complicated to me. But it was but one simple invention that enabled her to perform such feats: magnets. Her body was lined with them. They were specialized and turned on and off by her mind, so she was never to draw, say, a spoon to her eye. It was a genius method. But it was cruel.
For the Pyroead, his mind had to be tampered with. See, the ability to control things beyond our minds has been locked deep in our brains since the beginning of our evolution. It’s a matter of unlocking said ability that’s been a challenge. But XL managed to bring together the brightest scientists to accomplish it. His skin had been doused in a fireproof layer of chemicals that seeped into his bloodstream, making him immune.
As for the dragons, well... they were all so complicated and different, yet they were all connected. The ability of flight, when not coupled with wings, was the work of magnets, too, just as the invention of hovercars, as scientists elsewhere continued to work toward the development of it, was based around the power of magnetic fields. Fire control had been made possible by the same mechanisms used for the Pyroead.
Their lives, their torture, had been terrible. They wouldn’t remember it, of course, but that didn’t make it any less real.
They all suffered. They never knew. They wouldn’t know. Their abnormalities didn’t come with their birth. They were nothing more than lab rats.
I’d created the ideas for all of them. I was the one who imagined the possibilities. I was the one who made it possible.
My fault.
I’d studied mythology from cultures around the world my first year in college. It was my fault they’d been considered. They all were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Occasionally, they’d show certain traits that would enable them to be better candidates. Otherwise, it’d been coincidences. That’s what the scientists loved to tell me, at least.
Their lives had all been ruined prior to the experiments, but that was all they had in common. I knew none of the subjects were chosen by random. It was planned. They were scientists for God’s sake. They knew how to gather subjects without arousing alarm.
But it was almost laughable, how the subjects all believed they were creatures from history. They were nothing more than weapons.
They were toys.
Each and every one of them had been created for the sole purpose of money and war. Even if they weren’t strong or deadly, they could all be used.
Violence and attraction were but one step away from each other, lust and violence less than that.
Those pheromones infused into the nymphs’ blood? Who could ever say sex wasn’t the best source of distraction? Weapons weren’t the only way to win a war, after all.
The funniest thing of it all was that two of these “creatures” had no powers at all. The leprechaun? Nothing. He was a normal human. The psychopomp? He was the tricky one. While many didn’t believe in them, spirits did in fact exist. Heiji just happened to be the only one caught in the snare of XL. How they managed to do it, I couldn’t be sure. But they’d succeeded somehow.
Maybe they’d enlisted a Ghostbuster. Heaven only knew.
I drew the moth-eaten blanket around my shoulders tightly. They’d been so kind to offer it to me. It did little to deter the frigid air from piercing my skin.
Winter was a wicked beast.
For hours I’d sit in the same position, arms wrapped around my knees as I muttered names and sayings to myself. Perhaps I’d finally lost it. It’d be understandable. Eleven years of this unyielding solitude would get to anyone.
A knock on the door caught my attention. Instead of jumping like they’d wanted me to, I simply turned my face up. Gary was nowhere to be seen, but I had expected that. I’d heard his screams a few weeks ago. He’d been taken care of.
He’d been neutralized.
He was no longer a threat.
He’d been expendable, just another pawn.
He didn’t exist, not anymore. None of the scientists did. They were a puzzle, nothing more.
“Get up.” The shadowed figure ordered. I couldn’t make out their features. He’s not Gary. He’s no leader. Why should I listen to him? “Didn’t you hear me? We’re leaving. Get. Up.”
He had to be joking.
He had to be.
I couldn’t comprehend this.
My cell was all I’d known for many years. Why would that change?
I began to tremble. No, it was worse than that. I was quaking. Change wasn’t good. Change was foreign. Change meant chaos, and chaos, though fitting Newton’s law to balance out harmony, wasn’t good.
From beyond the metal barrier, the man sighed.
He opened the door.
“Fine. I’ll get you myself.”
He wasn’t gentle in the slightest. After wrenching off my blanket, the only sliver of comfort I’d had, he hoisted me up over his shoulders. I didn’t fight. I didn’t struggle. I needed to know where he was taking me before speaking out. Silence was my only weapon.
I weighed less than the air around us. His hands, hot against my icy skin, barely seemed to induce pressure. It was like I didn’t exist.
Maybe I don’t. Wouldn’t that be nice?
He grumbled the entire trip up the stairs. “Making me do the dirty work. I’ve been here for years. Get a newbie to do it, or something. Why do I have to get the scrawny waste of space?”
I bit my tongue. There was no point in expressing my opinion at this point. Eleven years in a dungeon taught its inhabitants a lesson on that. Wait and listen. Listen and learn. Learn before acting. It was an easy cycle. Easy and agonizing.
We emerged from the basement, immediately shrouded by an encompassing aura of white light. A migraine settled over my mind immediately. The ache sprouted behind my eyes, pressing against them without relent. Still, I bit back my complaints.
Silence was the only way to ensure my safety. I didn’t have anything else.
“How’s our favorite little scientist?” a new voice sneered. Once my vision cleared, I could see three figures—two male, one female—with their eyes fixated on me. The one who’d spoken kept the sneer in his voice plastered on his face. “Hmm? Did you lose your voice, you little runt?”
He’s new here. Eyes still bright. Gray labcoat, not black, and it’s crisp; freshly ironed. Hair slicked back with gel. He thinks he’s something special. He’s definitely not in it for the money. Probably a high-functioning psychopath.
It’d been some time since I’d been able to use my observation skills, so it came as quite a shock that they were still as sharply tuned as they had been when I was but a boy.
The female elbowed the man who’d spoken. “Hush up. Don’t mess with him. He’ll do some voodoo magic on you or something. That’s what the other guys say.”
Another newbie. I’ll be they’re interns. They don’t reek of death like the others. They all seem so self-assured and confident. Arrogant. They’ll see the error in their ways soon enough.
I lifted my head, shifting as much as I could in the man’s hold. “They were right to warn you.” It’d been so long since I’d spoken, my voice was gravelly. She paled, turning her sparkling blue eyes on me. “The most laughable part is that you think I’m the worst. I’m willing to bet you’ve never been to the dungeons, let alone the labs.”
“Guess you know a lot about those places, huh?” the woman snapped, hands planted on her hips. “Imprinted on your face and embedded in your back. I bet your pride hurts more than those injuries ever could.”
Infuriated, I struggled against the man’s hold. “You shut your blasphemous mouth, you insensitive swine. None of you will ever understand what I or the other subjects have been through.” My mind was tinged red with my unfathomable anger. I couldn’t control it anymore. “Why don’t you lie on a table while men in black coats stare down at you and jab you with needles. Go scream until your throat is raw, and scream some more while they laugh at your agony. Thrash about against your restraints to no avail and rip your wrists to shreds. Let them cut you open like a frog in an amateur biology class so they can analyze your digestive system. Maybe then you would understand.” I grew lightheaded, my rant taking more out of me than I’d anticipated.
The woman had paled a few more shades, hand clutching her throat. The first man bristled, eyes slitted and mouth parted. Before he could speak, the last man cut him off with a stiff arm.
“Don’t. He’s just toying with you. That’s what they’ll all do. They manipulate your thoughts. Fear is what they thrive on. I’ve read enough about all the subjects to know that much.” His tone was wise, cockily so. Fool.We’re not the demons here. You are. Every last one of you damned scientists. I eyed him with hatred. You’re even worse than the first who spoke, your little friend. I bet you’re the real psychopath. One in every hundred people, they say. Guess that’s you.
I smiled. Maybe it was the forlorn sensation that’d seemed to have seized control of my thoughts, or perhaps it was the lingering hope that my brother still lived that drove me towards this alien confidence. “That’s what they want you to think. Reading gets you nowhere here. Go experience it yourself, you idiot. Everything I’ve said is true. Try swallowing that with a cup of coffee tomorrow morning. ” The man holding me jabbed an elbow into my ribs to shut me up. Wheezing, I bit back the tears that formed in my eyes. “Welcome to Hell.”
With my final warning in the form of a farewell, my carrier dragged me away, leaving the three clueless folks in our wake. They muttered amongst themselves, and though they tried to hide it, their fear was evident. It radiated off of them in waves, tainting their cool composures. And so begins your transformations. Count yourselves lucky I was here to jumpstart the process before you had to learn the hard way.
“You shouldn’t do that.” The gruff voice had returned, unkind and unpleasant.
I chose to remain elusive, but silence was no longer an option. I’d already been foolish enough to open my mouth. “Why, whatever could you mean, fine sir?” Yes, perhaps my insanity had gone a bit too far.
He shifted his hold. “You’re making it worse for yourself.”
“Oh, am I now?” I grew angry once more. How dare he act as though I brought this torture, this abominable agony, onto myself. “Tell me this, then. How could I possibly make my stay more comfortable and pleasant here at Hotel Kólasi?”
Upon hearing my brief tirade, he stopped, jerking us both to an abrupt standstill.
For a few moments, all was mum. If there’d been a pin in sight, I’d have been able to hear it plummet to the linoleum floor.
“You may be a genius, but you still have a lot to learn. Silence is the key.” How dare he insult my intelligence like that? I grew furious.
“You think I don’t know that? How else would I have been able to survive in an eternal, abysmal solitude for almost half of my existence?”
“Dementia helps. You’re delusional. And I genuinely pity you. But that doesn’t change a thing.”
Delusional? He thought I... was crazy?
Haven’t I been saying that all along?
What if I’ve been right?
What if that is all that I ever was?
These thoughts rendered me speechless. Yes, I’d considered the possibility of insanity, but I’d never assumed it was true. But everything I’d thought was logical. Such horrendous circumstances could lead any sane, healthy person to the brink of lunacy.
I was, modestly, a genius.
A starving genius.
Who’d been beaten senseless. Abused. Damaged. Used.
The mind behind the torture that hundreds had been forced to withstand.
I closed my eyes.
It was true, then. I was branded by that word.
Insane.
It went against everything I’d chosen to believe.
So what was real? What was true? What was a lie?
Griffin? Was he really alive? Or had I lied to myself, constructed a false reality where he still survived?
Had the fire killed our parents?
What if they lived, too?
What if I were dead and this was all some... horrid afterlife?
Perhaps I was suspended in limbo? Stranded in a comatose state? Had tragedy truly befallen my family? Or was this all a dream?
What of the other experiments? Had they all succeeded, or were they, too, failures?
So many questions. My head began to throb once more.
A burst of chilled air struck my face, forcing my eyes open. I blinked.
Outside. Real, fresh air. The unadulterated fragrance of winter. Nature.
All my doubts and queries vanished. I was free.
That illusion faded after a mere two seconds when the man carrying me dropped me to the ground. Gravel dug into my elbows. I gaped at him, still processing the ordeal. The pain was elementary and inconsequent. I ignored it.
“You’re going on a field trip since you’ve been such a good prisoner,” he mocked, unravelling a few yards of rope.
“Ah, yes. This shall be most enjoyable.” That voice I knew. It belonged to the man who I’d thought killed my brother. The scent of liquor was still present on his tongue. I focused my stare on him, committing his features to memory.
Short goatee, grey and white in color. Poorly trimmed hair. Crazed eyes. Always drunk; that hasn’t changed. Something’s wrong with his left shoulder. A wound? Perhaps doled out by one of the patients? He’s favoring it, keeping it rolled back farther than the other. A weakness. Labcoat is filthy. Bloodstains and general filth. How pleasant.
Biting my cheek, I refused to shout every wretched thing I could imagine at him. There would be a time for that, I was sure. I couldn’t wait for it to arrive.
“Would you hurry up?” Another new voice, this one wise but harsh. Asian in accent. Closer to Japanese than anything. “It’s not like we have much time. Do you have the chip ready?” Oh, God, a tracking chip. Does this mean they’ll try and erase my memories, too? I can’t afford that. I can’t lose what I am, even if that is nothing.
“Loaded and ready to implant, Hiraku,” the man who’d carried me confirmed. “It’s in the van.” Van?
“Then what are you waiting for? They’re in Germany. As soon as we put the chip in, they’ll know.” Who? Who’s in Germany?
“What are you talking about?” Somehow, I’d managed to summon the strength to voice my command, despite the chill that raced through me.
Alkako smirked as he ran a hand through my matted hair. “Oh, you silly child. It seems as though your brother and his friends have come a little too close to discovering the truth on their own. We’re going to help them. If they find the answers, it’ll be on our terms. Nothing else.”
... So... Griffin is alive. But what purpose could I serve?
“You’re going to use me.”
“What a smart boy.” My first scientist friend gripped my shoulder tightly. “And they’ll fall right into our trap.”
“I think you’re underestimating them,” I said, resisting the urge to throw his hand off.
“They did, too. But they were wrong,” said the Japanese man. “Jack, call for Nova. She should have been out here four minutes ago.” As the hulking figure of a man escaped back into the prison, the man who’d spoken snatched the rope from my transporter’s hands and secured my wrists and ankles together. “Not that you could escape anyway.”
“I don’t know if I understand what I’m supposed to do. They don’t know of my existence. I’m certain Griffin thinks I’m...” My voice broke. Dead.
Tossing a look that was almost sympathetic in my direction, the Japanese man signalled for the larger man to load me into the cabin. “Well your purpose, my dear, fellow scientist, is something that will be revealed to you very soon.”
Why must they be so cryptic?
With a quick heave, I was discarded into the metal carcass, soon finding myself secured to a stiff chair by metal cuffs. Ah, old friends, welcome back. And here I’d thought you’d abandoned me. My thoughts, bitter and resentful, did little to lessen the severity of my situation.
“Would you care for a blanket?” a soft voice chirped from the front of the van, a head of black hair cloaking the owner. “It’ll be a long drive, and it’s awfully chilly.” Her voice was melodic and strangely enthralling.
Hiraku turned sharply, eyes ablaze. “Silence yourself, Kiyoko,” he barked, making her flinch. “You have much to learn before you can communicate with them. Don’t embarrass me like that.”
As she turned halfway, she bit her lip, bowing her head. “Of course. Sorry, father.” Her voice was different, flat and cold.
That... What a horrible man.
From somewhere deep inside me came a sudden spark of courage. “Kiyoko, I admire your kindness. It seems to be an alien concept here.”
Her eyes now turned on me, flashing multiple colors, a sort of opalescent concoction. Her skin was a sickly gray, marred by thin, white scars, and feathers of every color imaginable lined the flesh of her arms. “Don’t you dare speak to me. I know my duty. I may be learning, but I know what is expected of me. And I refuse to disappoint.” The words sounded forced.
Her father smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Despite his praise, her glower faltered. Oh... Oh. I understand now. You poor thing. You’re your father’s test subject, a little minion. All you want is approval. Someday, I hope you’ll be free.
“So, what is she? A nymph? You all seem to be rather fond of them. She seems to resemble a Siren, but I’m not convinced. Shabby job, really. ”
A swift blow, directly to the center of my chest, shut me up, knocking the air from my lungs. I was pretty certain I heard my ribs shatter.
“Know when to keep your thoughts to yourself,” he hissed. “None of us need to hear your inner ramblings. You are only making this worse for yourself.”
Alkako snorted, taking a swig from his shining flask.
There they go again, acting as if they understand my situation. What a disgrace they all are.
I smiled. “Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe making it worse is just. What. I. Want.”
“Then you are far more insane than I realized,” he spat.
A rather curvy woman climbed in the back of the trunk with Jack’s aid, meeting my eyes with her gray ones. Or rather, not meeting them. She’s blind. A blind executioner. Who would’ve guessed?
“Sorry I’m late, Hiraku. My newest subjects were giving me trouble again. As it turns out, Ashvins are a pain to control. Stupid twins. Jack tells me they look lovely; I suppose the golden luster that was injected into their skin has lasted, and the black pigment must compliment it well. But they don’t wish to lose use of half their bodies; being Siamese twins isn’t on their ‘To-Do’ list, or some bullshit. I’ve tried, but they struggle too much, even with the sedative. How they even managed to catch themselves in a bloody fire and survive, I can’t understand. Maybe they had a little help.”
Once more, Alkako drank more liqueur. “That’s because our little wyvern was kind enough to offer them a hand. You should have heard him raving about it when he was under our control. What a hoot!”
Griffin...
Hiraku had had enough. “It’s of no importance now, Nova. Get seated, all of you. Go, now, Kiyoko. Post haste. We must arrive on time.”
She nodded, gripping the steering wheel with tightly clenched hands. If I ever escape this place and regain my strength, I will rescue you, even if you don’t want my help. You don’t deserve this life, dear Siren. No one does.
The engine roared to life, stuttering only once, before Kiyoko pressed down on the gas. The road was bumpy and uneven, probably made of dirt. As soon as we’d taken off, a thick band of a rough material had been secured around my throat, forcing my head to face the back of the van.
“Can’t have you know where we’re going, can we? No, I think it’ll be best if it’s a surprise,” Hiraku said with a laugh, eyes directed away from me. He tested needles and stirred serums as if we weren’t in a suspicious van with myself as a prisoner. Maybe he was crazy, too.
Maybe we all were.
“We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” Ah, Cheshire Cat, you always had the strangest wisdom. How fitting for such a quote to find its way into my mind; I haven’t read the novel in nearly twenty years.
“Oh, yes, I do enjoy surprises,” I snapped. “What a wonderful thing it is, to be unaware of your fate. How fantastic.”
His hand gripped my forearm, fingers pressing into the bone. “Sarcasm may be your coping method, but I can assure you that it won’t help you where we’re going.”
“Then maybe you should tell me now so I can prepare myself.”
“Why, we’re going to visit your brother and his friends, of course,” chimed Alkako as he tossed his empty flask to the floor, the metal connecting with a faint clank. “But they’ll be wanting to know of our arrival, no?”
Nova smiled, baring unrealistically white teeth. “Oh, yes. I even brought a few props to welcome them home.” From behind her she pulled an enormous duffle bag filled with at least four gallons of gasoline, and Jack unveiled a blowtorch. “We thought it’d be nice to throw them a little party like they once threw us.”
“You people are sick.”
“And you’re insane. What’s your point?” came Jack’s reply.
“Enough, all of you!” shouted Hiraku. “Good God, you drive me insane. Shut him up, then help me insert the tracker. We have much work to do.”
With a tight-lipped grin, Alkako, weidling a drenched rag, sauntered over to me. Chloroform, no doubt. “Sleep tight, little prince. When you wake up, you’ll have plenty of things to talk about with the monsters you helped create.”
He pressed the cloth against my face, and I had no choice but to inhale the fumes.
“You’d better pray to whatever Gods you believe in, Cyrus,” said Hiraku, lovingly patting my cheek, “because your hell has only just begun.”
As everything dimmed, I found the strength to summon a smile. “I believe in the one true God, Hiraku, no matter what. You can torture me. You can kill me. I was raised on this faith. My father was a damn minister, for God’s sake.” I swallowed. “You can’t break me..”
“But I sure as hell will try.”
Spots danced in my eyes. Despite my impending demise, I couldn’t help the surge of excitement that seized me.
Freedom... I can almost taste it. Freedom, at last. Griffin... oh, brother, soon I will see you again. I hope you won’t be too upset with me.
I closed my eyes.
Forgive me, brother. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’ll explain everything. I promise. I just hope it won’t be too late.
♔♚♟♙♔♚♟♙♔♚♟♙
And there you have it. The plot twist. Part Three, at least.
It looks like Cyrus *puts on shades* has been kept in the dark. YEEEAAAAAHHH.
(See it was a double joke there. Because who wears shades in the dark. Except blind people and d-bags... Apparently Cyrus?... oi.)
Yeah. Cyrus is alive. And yeah. Cyrus is kind of unintentionally the creator of XL.
BUT HE’S GENUINELY A NICE GUY. WHEN HE ISN’T BEING HELD AS A PRISONER AND STARVED AND EXPLOITED BUT Y’KNOW.
Um. Yeah. I don’t quite know what to say after this post. I already said something moderately witty (and *shot* worthy). Um. I hope you liked it and don’t hate me.
THERE IS ONLY ONE MORE POST TO COME. THEN FREE-FOR-ALL AND CHAOS AND WOO.
Love you all. Please don’t hate me. Okay bai. <3
