Apollo's POV:
Dark, cold, silent… alone. All around me are broken gurneys and abandoned rooms as I'm lead down the dark dank hallway. The cracks in the walls and dents in the floor were splashed with mold and rot, and infested with rats and roaches. The eerie darkness gave way to a single flickering light, trembling weakly in the room down the hall where a shadow stood waiting for me in the doorway. Amorphous and unmoving, the shadow remained still- summoning my approach. Despite my attempts to stop, my body continued to move on towards the shadow in the flickering light. The sound of my footsteps echoed down the corridor, the faint hiss of splashing water and crackling concrete whispering beneath my reluctant feet. Growing closer, the backlit shadow waited robotically its now-visible features were revealed in the short bursts of light from the struggling bulb in the room- sporadically revealing the shadow's single slate-grey eye staring coldly behind a cold metal mask. It was then that I was finally able to stop moving. I could feel my heart in my throat and my pulse pounding like a drum as I struggled to breathe, looking up at the shadow. At first, neither of us moved; for what felt like an eternity, we just stared at each other, until the shadow finally made the first move- leaning forward and stretching a hand towards me. There was a soft splash as I stepped backwards into a small puddle, refusing the shadow's gesture. Its hand still outstretched and that grey eye still staring into me, the shadow took a dominant step forward and finally spoke. "It's time…" the voice said, in a cold emotionless voice. "Come."
I took another step back, but instead found myself one step closer to the shadow. "I don't like this," I said, my voice timid and higher in pitch, like that of a small child. "Daddy I-" the shadow's eye focused in on my own, its glare angered and cold. "Master…" I said apologetically, watching his gaze soften in response. "I- I don't want to I… I'm afraid…" The shadow's hand remained outstretched; though it was obvious it wasn't asking me to take it.
"I know. But there is no reason to be," the shadow replied. "You've done well and come so far. I can tell that you are ready…"
"Bu-" before I could object any further, my wrist was grabbed and I could feel myself being pulled into the room. "Why do we need to do this? They didn't see me. I did well… didn't I…?" I asked, as he led me toward a steel chair and a surgical table- the only sanitary things in the room.
"And you will do even better when we are finished."
"Why can't I just finish the Wayne-Tech project? I've managed to get-" his grip tightened and I could tell he was getting mad as he pulled me faster. The light's flickering had begun to slow as I staggered through the erratically blinking light, absorbing the filthy stench and clutter of the obliterated room. As the light flashed again, I was led past a broken surgical cabinet- its steel doors dented and warped as they hung open on rusting hinges. Looking in at its empty shelves, I could see my reflection being lead toward the chair; but while I recognized the scrawny eight-year-old being dragged forward, it felt impossible to acknowledge the terrified child's image as my own. Sternly, he sat me in the chair and turned slowly towards the table to prepare the syringes. As he approached the table, he spun around quickly and shot me a foreboding glare. It was clear he didn't want me to move. While he fiddled with the syringes, I looked around the room; the overturned operating table- now a covered patio for rats- was weathered and decayed, but still had enough surface area, salvageable enough to reflect the terror I could no longer hide. Try as I might to remain calm, I could feel my body tremble with every breath and I wasn't sure how much longer I could suppress the urge to throw up. Looking at the child looking back at me in the reflection, her image blurred in and out of focus as tears began to well in her cerulean-blue eyes. Quickly I wiped the tears away and did my best to steady my sniffles and labored breathing, knowing how angry he got when I cried. Desperately I strained to stop before he gave me a 'true reason to cry'; but as he turned back toward me, tapping away any lingering air bubbles in the syringe, I could tell that he'd heard.
"Come now, my dear," he falsely cooed as he approached and proceeded to roll up the sleeve on my left arm. I could feel my heart skip a beat, and watched, terrified, as my veins pulsed. "This is what you've worked for. I admit," he paused and wiped my sweaty forearm with a sterile cloth, "I'm quite proud of you… I didn't expect you to excel so quickly." He looked up at me with that asphalt-grey eye- just as hard and cold as the hue it resembled. Even behind his mask, I could tell he was trying to smile to put me at ease, but we both knew his expression was as hollow as the syringe tip he directed toward my arm. Watching it grow closer, my arm- my entire body- began to shake, and I could feel the warmth of tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Master," I choked out in desperation, hoping he'd look me in the eye and stop. Robotically, he ignored my plea and continued. The syringe was millimeters from my flesh. The shaking had subsided and given way to frozen terror, when I finally tore my arm away and pushed him off of me, jumping up from the chair and knocking it to the floor. "Please… Daddy!?" Cradling the syringe in his hands, he caught his balance and stood up, looming over me. "You can't-" my final plea had fallen on deaf ears, and left mine ringing, as I was struck in the face. Wiping the blood from my temple, I had no time to react before he grabbed my shoulder and slammed me into the wall, the remaining air knocked out of me as my back hit the crumbling wall. I could feel my arm being wrenched up against the wall and the cold sting of the syringe as it pierced my skin. In the final flash of the dying light bulb, I watched as he dispensed the contents of the syringe into my body, then dropped it into the rest of the litter on the floor, before stepping back and staring at me, lifelessly. Looking down at the empty syringe, I tried to grasp the fact that its contents were now inside of me, flowing freely through my body and making their way through my now-burning arm. Again, I forbid myself to cry, but in using my strength to force back the tears, I allowed my legs to go weak and fell to the floor, looking up at him as he approached.
"Excellent," he whispered, running his fingers through my hair and wiping a tear from my chin with his thumb. "We'll finish with the final administration next week…" he patted my shoulder and helped me to my feet, before leading me out of the room. "My apprentice…"