The opaque haired male arched his spine, fingernails ploughing into his bedsheets. "Stop! Stop!" A piercing scream left his lips, his hues widening in dread and absolute agony. The men in white overlooked the wailing boy, lips curling into smiles beneath their surgical masks. The males body quivered as the surgeons once more, lowered the metal barbs to the boys pale flesh. A searing pain coursed through his frail body, his skin now glowing a vibrant red from the ferocious assaults. "Stop! Please!" He tried once more to beg the robed men, only to have his voice silenced by a vicious jab to his torso. "He seems to be responding well… No signs of internal injuries, heart beat and breathing currently stable. Just as you described, sir." A man at the male's side spoke gently, his voice calm and tranquil despite the repetitive strikes to their victim. The boy glanced through his oiled fringe, at the man who had spoken, his emerald hues welling with tears at the onslaught of pain to his middle. His once beautiful body, was now streaked with blood, his skin flourished with welts and hideous burns. "As you can see, pupils… The body has already began to heal itself. Even in such extreme conditions, this is doing no harm to his body…" The men gazed down at his peeled flesh, nodding their heads in unison as they hurriedly scribbled into their clipboards, like trained puppies following their master's commands. The male craned his neck backwards, screams gurgling behind his closed lips as fresh heat coursed up his legs. At his absolute threshold, his vision obscured, the pain growing fuzzy in his mind. "And that, ladies and gentleman, is the astonishing body of Marco Bott."
He had entered the world with a miraculous gift, something which had astonished the minds of science and the people amongst him. He had viewed his 'gift' as something far from it, it was something which distanced him from everyone else and although it was undetected from the typical person, he knew. As did his mother, the woman who left him in his seventh year.
As soon as his dearest mother departed his side, he was left in the cruel and repulsive hands of experimenters. Perhaps his ability truly was something to treasure, but that wasn't how they viewed it. They took him in, analysed and examined the male, and as he grew into manhood, the investigations seemed to advance in cruelty.
He was the puppet. They were the puppeteers.
It was only in his eighteenth year, the year he became an adult, was he was granted freedom. Although his body remained in the same pristine condition as it had when he had arrived at the facility, his mind remained distorted from years of abuse and sickening explorations. He was no longer the child he had been at his arrival.
Marco gazed down at his outstretched palms, rough with age and untold stories. He slowly revolved his hands, his dull hues following down his wrists towards the crooks of his elbows. Although there was no evidence of his ghastly injuries and grievances, his mind knew of every bruise, every cut and every break completed on his frail body. His eyes followed down the sleeve of his shirt, recalling the grisly slices to his wrists, and his stained purple skin. There was nothing left to tell of his fight with life, nothing to remind himself of his conquest.
He lowered his hands to rest upon his legs, his fingers drumming against the pale flesh of his thighs. Sighing gently, he tugged the hood of his jumper down and over his eyes, before lifting the strap of his satchel up and over his head. Although he had been freed from the facility, newspapers continued to spill his story and chatter endlessly echoed his name. Multiple times in his past, people had recognised his face and excitedly come forwards to see for themselves the unfortunate ability he had been granted.
This was the main reason, that nowadays, he shielded his face from the public's view, with thick hoodies and layered clothing.
Marco proceeded forwards to the front door, closing the heavy oak at his heels as he wandered down the peddled pathway, and into the crowded village streets. Markets cluttered the walls, rising between houses. He kept his head bowed, his hues focused on the toes of his black boots. Although people continued with their tedious tasks, he felt the curious eyes of villagers, bearing into his back. The male quickened his pace, dodging swiftly past people and crowded stalls, as he made his way to the rear of the street.
It occurred before he could even comprehend what was happening. In one swift collision against the side of a stranger, the hood fell from his eyes, his face immediately recognisable to the public. He froze in his place, hues lowered in fear as the silence lengthened.
The chorus of voices rose up around him, like children crawling for their mother's attention. "That's the man with the weird skin, right Mama?" The voice of a child, seemed to linger in his ears, causing his lips to downturn into a pained frown. Even in the eyes of the innocent, he was nothing more than a scientist experiment.
Marco remained silent, as villagers crawled at his sides, their voices shrill in the crowded market streets. He could do nothing more than remain standing with his head bowed, and eyelids screwed tightly, painfully waiting for the chatter to lower.
"Hey… You just gonna stand there, and let these big bullies pick on you?" The smooth, charming speech of another male, awakened the boy from the havoc of his mind. He glanced upwards with slight shock, his emerald hues widening at he stared up at the handsome stranger. The man was slightly taller than himself; his hair teased like a child's, his honeysuckle eyes staring back at him. "Well?"
Marco's cheeks flourished a light pink, his hues flickering downwards in embarrassment, as he proceeded to tug the hood back over his eyes. "I-It's fine… Their just curious…" He shrugged helplessly as the mutters rose once more, his face lowering further into his chest. "You a celebrity or something…?" The other male's lips curled into a teasing grin, his teeth pearl white and gleaming with care. He remained silent, hues flaring beneath his dark locks. It was incredibly unusual for anyone to not know who Marco was. In fact, the majority of people who had seen his face, recognised him immediately, from television screens and newspaper articles.
"Well… Either way, it's not going to be any use standing here and taking it," The male sighed, eyes lifting to rifle through the crowds of onlookers. "I know a good spot, where they won't bother you… But you've got to trust me, okay?" Hesitantly, Marco cleared his throat, slightly unbelieving that a stranger held this much interest in him. Especially one, with no intention of asking him about his ability, or his absence from the media. "Your name…" He whispered after a moment's silence, his fingers clasping tighter around the strap of his satchel. "What's your name, first? I can't really trust someone, when I don't even know their name…"
A soft chuckle escaped from the lips of the stranger, his eyes lowering to meet the others hooded face. "Geez, nerd…" Pausing, he allowed the silence to settle. "It's Jean. Jean Kirstein."
