It was the final push that he needed to make his life no more.
The way his father constantly taunted him.
He found his hands wrapping around his throat and choking him until he knew his life would be over.
And it took its sweet time. Chase's hands kept crushing, trying to break the voice box beneath his thumbs. He supposed that there should have been something screaming at him to stop, telling him that these were going to lead to so many innumerable problems but all that he heard was:
Keep going.
Don't stop.
You're almost reaching your true potential.
Was it whispers of lies?
Or were these truths?
His father's arms were reaching out, his fingers were trying to dig at him, trying to say anything before the last light left his eyes, but there was nothing reaching Chase.
Except for the sweet final release from being captive all his life.
He felt the tugging and pulling at his shirt and neck and then finally it broke away.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
His father was not supposed to be lying dead below him.
But it finally had snapped in him. All of the constant show boating and taking credit for everything that he had done for him. He found that he just couldn't stand being upstaged by this man anymore.
Chase, as smart as he was, as much intelligence as he had been given, couldn't seem to wrap his head around the simplest of ideas. And as he started to really stare down at the dead body below him, he started to feel the panic well up in his throat and stick there like a golf ball.
Despite it all, knowing that everything that he had every known was about to change, he knew that he would not have changed what he did.
There was something almost freeing seeing the body laying beneath him.
That was what happened when you tried to play creator. Eventually, the subject turns against its creator. It's only nature. His father should have known it was going to happen.
Chase set his hands down to his sides. Despite his genius, he was having trouble planning on figuring a way out.
Was there supposed to be a way out of this? He spied the dead body again. Probably not, but that's what you get he thought and he glared back at the body.
He needed to walk away from this for now.
Chase did not know if Adam or Bree would find out, and if they did, would he even care?
No, and he did not need any intelligence to see that. In the years of constant work, constant hiding, all the missions, everything, it had given way to something else: no heart.
He had, at one point, when he was still a teenager, still trying to find his way through life, he had tried to care. But one by one, he watched as all his hopes and dreams were constantly crushed. Whether it was his father's fault or just because of how he was a bionic human, he did not know. He didn't care to find out either.
That was when the shaking starting in his hands and went to the rest of his body. It was the rage that he held inside. Even murder, even this kind of release, it didn't alleviate all the years of pain and time lost.
He was a man now. At least, he liked to think that he was.
C.
Subject C. When it was quiet at night, when he had recharge for the next day, all he could dream about was how he was the last.
They had said jokingly, "Save the best for last, right?" but there was always something so condescending about that statement that he just couldn't shake.
So where did he go from here?
Wait for Beauty and the Beast to find out what he had done?
He had been spiraling down this path for a while. And they had known.
In their defense, which despite what he had done, he would always come to their aid, had tried to watch out for him. They had tried to bring him back in but as he distanced himself, his pseudo-siblings, would try to bring him back and it would be merciless fights.
It had been over ten years since they had debunked their floating academy. They had tried to start building normal lives. They had tried to be productive citizens but they all knew, even his brother and sister wouldn't admit it, there had to be something more for themselves.
With each of their lives separating apart, with Chase chasing his dreams of building and manufacturing new products, new technology, he had found something that had made him feel the slightest bit human.
But it never made him feel whole.
There was always that nagging feeling in the back of his head, where he knew, he knew more than most, of what he was. A genetically modified person. Not a real person. Just a specimen, grown in a petri dish. Someone played creator and made him for a purpose.
He found that the original purpose is what he had turned out to be.
A murderous super soldier.
He glanced back at the body one last time before he closed the door.
Just the first but definitely not the last.
In his youth, he had been given the cold shoulder from the opposite sex he chased. Now, it was the opposite. In a quick wink, he could have them throwing themselves at him and their panties would hit the floor.
And here he was again, spying another member of the opposite sex that he felt like might distract him from events early today.
A pretty little girl. Short brown hair framed her face, hidden beneath her dark rimmed glasses were the biggest brown eyes he had seen in a long time. She looked lost and he would make sure that he was the one that she found.
She was taller than him, he could see that from here and honestly, at this stage in his life, most people were. Still, he found that his stature kept people from being intimidated. He was always the sweet trusting one. The one that they could always find themselves running to whenever there was a problem.
Usually, he was the problem only they weren't smart enough to see what he had done.
The best part of her was her low-cut dress that left very little to the imagination but just enough that he definitely wanted to see if reality was better.
He would place a bet that it would.
As smooth as he could be, he slid up to the bar and made his way next to her, accidently bumping against her hip, almost causing her to spill her drink in her hand but just enough not to. The force forced her hand to grab onto his shoulder for balance and he flashed her the most genuine smile he could muster.
"Oh, I'm sorry, miss, are you alright?" He gently placed his hand on hers on his shoulder to steady her.
She smiled back at him and then eyed her drink quickly. "It looks like I am. If I had spilled this, I think someone would have owed me another one."
Chase felt her reserve drop quickly, almost too easily. "I'd like to buy you another one, if I may."
And that was how it started.
Through the night their conversation remained on point, quiet, almost seducing him.
It was easy to seduce when you were a psychopath.
He felt no reserve in his hatred of life itself.
And when he found himself naked on top of her, he almost found some semblance of peace, pulling at her hair and smelling what was some mix of ginger and oranges that was perpetuating his nostrils and contaminating his brain.
They were twisted underneath the sheets and he found himself ripping them off and pinning herself under him with one leg. It wasn't a struggle. There was no force, no need. She was willingly letting him take her again and again. He found himself struggling to hold himself together as he slid into her again and again.
It was almost like he could feel something again. But that was foolishness.
It was the pure animalistic side of him. The rage that was quelling deep inside of him was being taken out through the pure, unadulterated carnal way he took her and made her his again and again. He loved to watch her again and again, the way she arched her back up against him and pressed her breasts against his hard chest.
The flesh against flesh contact was just what he needed.
Still, as he almost went onto auto pilot, he found whatever was left of his soul drifting back to what he had done early.
The dead look in his father's eyes.
The blood that had spilled out of his mouth and had dried as Chase had watched him die.
Those thoughts only made him take the pretty little thing beneath him again and again, over and over until her hands were digging into her back and trying to rip into his skin. She was whispering his name over and over again.
Finally, he found the sweet spot. And instead of reaching his climax and finding instead relief, he saw blood and death before his eyes.
He rolled off of her, panting and lay for a moment, saying nothing but starring at the ceiling, trying to remember what just had happened.
She propped herself up on her shoulder, her hair a mess but the look in her eyes much different than the doe eyes that she had first seen him through. There was a grin plastered on her face, almost a goofiness to it.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the fact she was looking at him.
He couldn't ignore the fact that her hands were already touching him again and this time, he turned away. "Don't." He sat up, his back facing her and started to find his clothes.
"What's wrong? Was it something I did?"
He looked back at her. A normal person would say something.
That's where they differed. He looked back at her, still being able to admire her in all her naked glory, but not being able to care that she had feelings.
Still, he proceeded to dress and gather his things.
"Seriously, Chris, what did I do? I thought we were having fun."
He could hear the pouting in her voice, the almost childlike sadness she was feeling right now.
As he finished buttoning his shirt, he turned to her and spoke very slowly.
"First, my name isn't Chris. I lied. Second, I just wanted to fuck you. Third..." He paused for a moment as he watched her stumble to find any words. "No, there's no third. I lied. You were a good fuck and I knew you would be when I first saw you. Have a nice life."
Chase started out the door and was gone before she could speak.
He should have stayed though.
He would have heard her mutter, "That's okay, Chase Davenport. So, did I."