Disclaimer- Monster is not mine. Etc. etc.
Rating, like I said before, M
Warnings… in case you did not read the notes, Child abuse, Swearing, Violence, again, I repeat, Kinderhiem was no Disney world.
Please Review.
Disciple
Part One
Sheep amidst the wolves.
When 37 saw the new boy, his very first thought was that there was no way in hell that that could actually be a boy.
The new boy stood quietly beside the visiting general. His face was very calm. His skin was as white as fresh milk… he did not have even a single scar. That was very odd. His hair was pale blond and very tidy. It had recently been trimmed. He wore a clean white shirt with tan shorts, a waistcoat, and a little blue jacket. His legs were long, pale, and slender. They looked like the legs of a girl, he smirked. The new boy wore simple brown shoes. His socks were white and clean, without a single smudge or stain. His large eyes looked almost sleepy, and were very blue. He could not have been more than eight years old.
The supervisors were all very interested in the new boy. They hovered around him like starving vultures. He really could not blame them for staring; he was only eight too, but looking at the new boy made him feel… really, really weird. It was almost creepy how pretty he was.
Mr. Hartman, the general supervisor, was staring at the boy with particularly dirty eyes.
Every boy in 511 knew that look, and what it meant. The new boy was not going to last a month. None of Hartman's favorites ever did. Hartman played rough, and he tended to break his toys… literarily. The man beat boys up as often as had sex with them. And the fact that they were his never protected them from being molested by the other Supervisors. Hartman was usually very generous with his toys. The lucky ones were those who stopped being pretty real fast. Getting beat up a lot did that, and Hartman got bored when they were no longer pretty. The lucky ones had managed not to break before he became bored. They got scars from a thousand wounds, and bruises, and repeatedly broken bones, but at least they survived. The unlucky ones were sent to the state hospital with terrifying injuries and were never heard about again. One or two had broken and gone crazy. Kinderhiem 511 alone was hard to deal with. Hartmann and Kinderhiem rolled up in one would kill anyone if they had to take it for too long.
He almost pitied the new boy.
37 himself was not a particularly beautiful child. His hair was too dark to be blonde. His eyes were too grey to be blue. He had very pronounced jaws with relatively large, protruding teeth. His eyebrows were slender and very sharply angled, giving his entire face a rather hard look for someone his age. His lips were thin, sardonic and cold. They looked positively cruel when he smiled.
He was not ugly, but he was no beauty either. There was not a single cute or adorable feature on his entire body, and for this he was deeply grateful. A girly face was a curse in a place like Kinderhiem 511, and having girly legs just made it worse. Anything that made you stand out generally put you in very big trouble. Everyone knew what happened to nails that stood out. Soldiers could not be individuals. War machines could only be war machines.
It was clear to him that the new boy would never be a soldier. Not with that face. Not with that slim, milk colored body, not with those long, slender legs.
He stared. He could not help it.
Apparently his gaze was hard enough to catch the other boy's attention, because at that point the newcomer turned, and glanced over at him.
He quickly looked away.
His face felt hot. He really hoped that it was not turning red.
Still, he could not stop himself from glancing up at the new boy again.
And that was when it happened.
Their eyes met, and held. Immediately, his breath caught.
He saw it.
It was something inside those eyes that immediately captivated him. It was a strange and very alluring thing that he could sense living inside the other boy. It felt… it almost was… like… charisma? ... Magnetism? … Power?
No. That was not it. Those words were not enough.
He knew no words for what it was he saw.
It was deep and dark and weird and made no sense. He had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he was recklessly drawn to it. He suddenly wanted that thing he saw in the other boy more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life. He had never been the sort of child that believed in fairies, or witches, or mysterious forces, or magic, or gods that demanded awe and adoration by their mere presence. But if he had, he might have concluded that in some strange way, the boy he was looking at was one of those things.
Unconsciously, he found himself leaning forward. The act was purely instinctive. He was completely absorbed by the other boy, and too utterly entranced by what he was seeing inside him to notice the fact that his body had moved. The raw, almost desperate yearning on his own face would have appalled him if he had known it was there.
The new boy smiled at him. It was a cold, quietly scornful smile, as beautiful as it was contemptuous.
His breath caught. He jerked back as if he had been slapped.
Then his eyes narrowed, and he glared.
The new boy was unfazed by his furious glare. His smile merely became amused, and then clearly dismissive. He turned away to listen to what the General was saying.
37 was furious.
And to think he had almost felt sorry for the snobby bastard!
He was not old enough to process all the things that he felt. But rejection hurt no matter how old you were.
That had been a very strong and definite rejection.
He bent over the questionnaire he had been filling out, struggling to control his fury. He repeatedly swallowed down the stubborn obstruction that clogged his throat and choked him. He blinked away the stupid tears that had begun to gather in his eyes.
The fingers that held his cheap yellow pencil were actually shaking with a mixture of very childish hurt and anger.
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffed, and frowned.
It was stupid to cry over something like this. He was far too old for this crap. He had not cried over anything for years. He wasn't about to start because of this.
Babies cried, not people who dreamed of conquering the world.
After several deep breaths, he calmed down a little. There really was no point getting upset. Not when he knew what was going to happen to the new boy. It had happened to all of them, no matter how tough they had once thought that they were.
When a newcomer was brought into Kinderheim 511, he was immediately moved into Block Number 5, which was a temporary boarding facility. All newcomers were expected to remain there for the required orientations, preliminary profiling, and medical, physical and psychological exams. It was a process that generally took about a week. Once all the test results were in, the child would be given a number, and then assigned to a room and allotted tasks based on his profile. There were usually four boys in each room, and interactions between the roommates were very carefully monitored. The main dormitory had twenty rooms and a large, centrally located bathing facility which was communally shared.
Everyone in Kinderheim knew that there were certain tests carried out in Block Number 5 that were strictly off the record.
There was one test in particular that was carried out in the room the boys called the 'initiation room.'
It was an open secret that the authorities in charge did nothing about. Everyone knew that the 'initiation' was regarded as an unofficial part of the experiment itself.
The purpose of Kinderhiem was to breed the perfect soldiers; to create a secret military force that would obey any order that they were given without question. It picked the boys with the greatest potential; the strongest, the most intelligent, the most cruel, and it trained them to lead the others. It taught these carefully selected boys how to manipulate and control their peers. But whether you were an ordinary follower or one of the select few recognized as leaders, you were essentially just another soldier. There was nothing special about you. The place bred you to have no past, no future and no conscience. After Kinderhiem, you lost all understanding of the concept of emotion. You did not know mercy and you lost the capacity to feel remorse. You became a machine without a soul that hid itself in human flesh. You were frankly capable of doing anything you were ordered to without thinking twice.
And as unscrupulously evil and nauseatingly foul as the idea was, the fastest way to strip a child of his self worth, his free will, and ultimately his humanity, was by a clinical and studied application of brutal, consistent and dehumanizing physical, emotional and sexual abuse. The combined trauma usually eroded his self esteem and made him question any values and any sense of right and wrong, or any consciousness of his own individuality and self worth he might have once had. Ultimately, it made him more open to suggestion, easier to control, easier to instruct, and easier to indoctrinate.
Animals were a lot easier to train than human beings. And that was what Kinderhiem did. It removed everything that made you truly human from you. It turned you into an unthinking beast that could easily be trained and controlled.
The Authorities in charge of Kinderhiem 511 knew this far too well. The torture and frequently recurring abuse were just as vital to achieving their goals as were the carefully selected cartoons, the unconventional use of drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments, the occasional sleep deprivation and constant interrogations.
Not all the boys in Kinderheim understood this, but he did, even though he was only eight.
And that was exactly why he was already a leader.
He looked at the new boy and smiled. It was a nasty, vindictive little smile.
The pretty blonde was going to learn, the hard way, that there were no superior children in Kinderhiem.
He wondered just how smug that boy would be when his high and mighty face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his pretty mouth was filled to the brim with Supervisor spooge. He doubted the new boy would remain that stuck-up after repeatedly taking it up his ass like a back-alley whore.
He certainly looked like the type who would enjoy it, he thought spitefully.
But even as he thought this, his gut told him without equivocation that that person would never submit to anyone. He was angry, however, so he firmly ignored it. It was far more therapeutic to dismiss the other boy as a worthless catamite; as Hartman's potential little whore.
The truth was that here, there were those who did enjoy it. None of them had at first, but few had soon learned to. Some of them, like him, still hated it in spite of the occasional pleasure. He could tolerate the other things if he had to, there were even some things he would cautiously admit felt really good, but not… that.
At least he was fairly lucky. He did not have to deal with that all that time anymore, just twice a month or so, and a bit more if he wasn't careful.
He was usually very careful.
And he had even that much respect because he had fought for it. He had clawed, fought, manipulated, and murdered his way up to this level. He was a fighter; the leader of his own group for that matter. Kinderhiem was a place that separated wolves from sheep, and separated the pack leaders from the ordinary wolves. He was young, but he was a pack leader. Every boy in Kinderhiem knew him. He was tough, and his followers were tough too. They were not the strongest, but they were strong enough to survive. And the physical strength his group lacked was made up for by their ability to control and manipulate others. His little group had some of the best brainwashers and psychological terrorists in 511. The boys in his group were not all that big… the oldest among them was twelve and the youngest was five, but they rarely lost any fight, physical or mental, that they got into. The only people who really scared them were the supervisors, and some of the bigger kids, who they stayed away from.
That was how you survived here.
The constant, violence and occasionally fatal skirmishes between various groups were fairly normal. The routine tests, constant drugging, unpredictable experiments, and humiliating interrogations were enough trouble without having to worry about getting your ass kicked, getting raped by a prowling supervisor or one of the perpetually horny puberty- ridden seniors, or getting killed outright.
But at least, he no longer had to worry too much about rape anymore. The supervisors usually gave the leaders some respite, provided they kept their 'little gangs' in order.
He doubted that arrogant new boy would last long enough in this place to earn even that level of respect.
Still, for all his anger, he knew what he had seen in those eyes. When you became the leader of a group, you soon learned to distinguish stupid little sheep from wolves. The more wolves you had on your side, the better. However, you also had to be able to tell that a wolf was a pack leader the minute you saw it. Knowing how to do this was very important. Having two pack leaders in one group only caused trouble. He knew. That was how he had become the leader if his group. Their last boss has not been able to tell the difference between an ordinary wolf and a pack leader. That had been very sad.
It was strange how you really could achieve a lot of great things with just a pencil, especially when you took your time to sharpen it to a really fine point.
He smiled softly at the memory.
He had honestly enjoyed himself, giggling enthusiastically while his former boss writhed and bled and struggled and screamed until his throat gave out. The other boys had stared in horror while collectively struggling not to throw up. No one in their group dared to question his authority after watching him play his jiggle the pencil game, and his position as leader was firmly established when the doctors reported that even if, by some miracle, their former leader had managed to survive the physical damage to his brain, he would never have been able to see with that eye ever again.
It was no surprise that he fully appreciated how important it was to recognize a pack leader when he saw one.
Those blue eyes he had seen were not the eyes of a pack leader.
They were eyes that pack leaders could not even presume to dream of having; the eyes of a massive, nameless entity that radiated the sort of raw, horrifying power that made pack leaders pee on themselves and run away with their tails between their legs.
They were the eyes of a leader that drew instinctive devotion from those that followed him; a master that inspired an almost perverse urge to submit and worship in the hearts of his chosen disciples. He could not help but be enthralled. The enchantment he felt was completely involuntary. He found himself craving the favor… or even the simple acknowledgement… of that awesome, powerful, magnificent creature. The sudden desire had been so strong and fierce that it had temporarily halted his ability to breathe.
And that was why the indifferent message in those eyes, and in that small, contemptuous smile, had hurt him so much.
Insignificant, presumptuous, unworthy peon; know your place, and stay in it.
He hoped, earnestly, that Hartman would beat the conceited little bastard to death before the week ran out.
Part 2
Oh ye of little faith.
He was not the only one who noticed the new boy. The blonde had caused quite a stir.
"Weekly cocoa says Hartman breaks his arm before the week runs out."
"Nah. Too pretty. He is going try to be careful with this one. I'd say a month, maybe even two."
"Hey, what do you think? Wimp, Warrior or Whore?"
"Whore."A cold snicker, "Definitely whore."
"I was thinking Wimp. He looks like the type who'd cry for mommy while taking it."
"Did you take a good look at him? That ass says Whore."
"Face says Wimp, Dickhead."
"Wimp for three days, maybe, Whore after that."
In the collectively twisted logic of the children of Kinderhiem, a Wimp was a pathetic little scaredy cat who could easily be bullied into letting himself be abused. Such a child was a joke, nothing but potential cannon fodder, weak and absolutely useless. No one wanted wimps in their groups, and they were the ones who suffered the most in Kinderhiem, because everyone had a license to bully them. Even the lowest of the low in Kinderhiem could do whatever he wanted with a wimp.
A Whore was one who probably started out as a Wimp or Warrior, but soon started to enjoy it, and adapted accordingly. Whores were deceitful. You could not trust them. They were the ones who looked out for their own best interests, and had no interests except what would please them. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but it was something the leaders had to be careful to take note of. Whores were infinitely resourceful and could adapt to anything, and they had their peculiar uses. But having too many whores in one group almost always led to its downfall.
A Warrior was one who let it happen because he had no choice, he was forced to, but even so he kept trying to fight, or at least talk his way out of it. It was understood that no child would ever be able to prevent the abuse from happening, no matter what he did or how much he fought. But making a reasonable attempt to stop it was what actually separated the true fighters from the victims. True Warriors were rare. They were the wolves. They were the useful ones. The ones that were always sought after by and fought over by rival gangs.
It was all primarily a thing of status.
The weird thing, he realized, was that it never crossed any of their minds that the boy might just possibly be a Warrior.
He did not blame them. They had not looked into that boy's eyes. They had only seen the pretty face and slender body.
But he had seen those eyes, and he had a gut feeling. His instincts about people were rarely ever wrong.
Besides, no wimp or whore could make him of all people cry like an ordinary eight year old boy just by looking at him.
He knew that the boy was not just a wolf, not just a pack leader. He was something far more threatening, and it was probably very unwise to try to recruit him. But he also knew that, for some reason he himself did not fully understand, he wanted the new boy in his group. It was just a simple feeling he had. His group mostly survived on being able to manipulate and control others. That boy belonged with his own group and no one else's.
If he won this bet, he would have first dibs.
He was not one to pass up a chance to get in an advantage.
"Your dinners for a week for me and my boys. Warrior."
Make that two advantages.
Everyone stared at him. Then as a group, they burst into loud, uproarious laughter.
"Good one." "Didn't see that coming." "Warrior? Ha!" "Yeah right."
"I was not joking"
Even the boys in his own group looked at him as if he had suddenly gone crazy.
Then 19 snorted. He was one of the older ones; probably seventeen, and almost old enough to be sent out to live on his own. He was okay. Not as screwy as some of the other seniors, but you did not want to mess with him. The guy was huge. He was officially the biggest boy in Kinderhiem 511 now that his best friend, 17, was no longer there. It was sad because all the boys who had known him had really liked him. 17 had been the very definition of a Gentle Giant… extremely tall, a reasonable cross between lanky and muscular, with a thin face and a characteristically large, beaky nose. Those who could still remember 17 knew that he had been one of the kindest boys who had ever lived in 511… But that did not mean that he was a pushover. Get on his wrong side, and he went 'Magnificent Steiner' on your ass. During his stay, every single inmate of Kinderhiem developed a very healthy respect for his ability to beat people to bloody, pulpy corpses with nothing but his fists. It was one of the reasons he had 'graduated' so soon. There were other organizations where his unique talents could be put to better use.
When 17 was here, he and 19 had been regarded as the strongest boys in Kinderhiem, but he could always be counted on to curb some of his best friend's excesses.
But 17 was gone. And 19 was examining the smaller boys with a very predatory smirk.
And he was a guy with a reputation for raw, unrestrained, brutality, and who was almost impossible to take down in a fight. Unlike his friend, he was not a nice guy; the only thing that was even remotely sentimental about him was his fondness for their weekly ration of cocoa. He also had a reputation for being as horny as hell, and the lucky possessor of the largest dick in Kinderhiem… supervisors included. It was a terrible thing, because he was famous for not being as considerate as someone of his remarkable size should have been.
"What the hell do you want; Roses? A fucking serenade?" He would usually ask his howling victim. "I'll reserve my gentleness for females, thank you. It is bad enough that I have to endure fucking a puke-ugly, bony, flat assed, tit-less wonder like you."
This quality did not bode well for the wary little boys he was studying. Sexual intimidation among the test subjects was technically forbidden in Kinderhiem 511, but that had never stopped anyone before.
He stood up, towering over many of the other boys, and approached the younger group.
He looked squarely into 37's eyes.
"You are very sure of yourself, aren't you?" He sneered. "What's your stake then, Bitch?"
It was suddenly very quiet. The crowd of hard eyed boys watched; their mouths twisted in cold, borderline indifferent smiles.
37 did not flinch. He maintained eye contact and did not back down, even as the older boy loomed over him.
"Dinners for Dinners," he said. "For one week."
"Dinners for dinners," he agreed. "And then, after you have lost the bet, you and your lucky little bitches also get to suck our cocks on demand for the full week."
Everyone was immediately very interested. Whooping, hollering, whistling, crude comments, harsh laughter and catcalls filled the air. The older boys were positively leering.
The younger boy's group members were not happy. Most of them could barely hide their alarm.
37 remained absolutely calm.
"If you want to raise the stakes, fine" he said. "When we win, we get your dinners, and you get our kitchen and toilet duty. Of course…" He added diplomatically, because even though he knew he would win, he could not afford to seriously annoy the bigger boys. Politicians had to be tactful. This was good practice. "…seeing that you are more than we are in number, cleaning up really shouldn't be such a big deal. This is all just a game after all."
19 raised an eyebrow, and then he laughed.
"You've got balls, kid. But luckily for you, you also seem to have some scraps of a brain as well. It will really be a shame when you lose." He ruffled the smaller boys head, almost affectionately. "Get ready for tonight. You fuckers will be getting dirty knees the minute Golden Boy's initiation is over." The other boys crowed and hooted with laughter. "And by the way," he added derisively, "You just won first prize; you get to play with mine." He traced the other boy's mouth with his large thumb, and then shoved his head back hard enough to hurt. "Aren't you the luckiest bitch of them all?" His grin was scornful.
As soon as the bigger boys had gone, his group gathered around him, alarmed, panicked, and angry. They asked him, among other less savory things, just what the hell he thought he was doing.
He laughed in his quiet, peculiar way.
"Just wait." was all he said. "You'll see."
Some rolled their eyes. Some grumbled. Some moaned. They really hated it when he went all mysterious on them.
He arched a thin, angular eyebrow. "You know, you guys really could show some faith in your leader." His eyes narrowed, but his lips remained stretched out in an incongruously cheerful smile. "I feel very upset about this."
Yes, they really hated it when he went all mysterious on them. But they had to admit it was much better than when he went utterly, nastily, bat-shit insane.
So collectively, they backed off. They all knew that their leader was vindictive enough not to forget any boy who actually questioned his authority. Giving blow jobs for a week was not a bad deal. They had all done worse before. It was far better than getting themselves killed in surprisingly… creative ways, or worse, being talked into killing each other.
It never occurred to them to think that they might actually win the bet.
Part 3
Out of the mouths of infants
The day had been long and grueling. The night was unmercifully cold, and their hard, narrow beds, as miserable as they were, looked extremely inviting.
But only a very few boys were actually asleep in Kinderhiem 511 that night.
A group of five boys; the two group leaders, two others from each group and a judge they had both agreed on had gathered together. They hid silently, waiting in the almost freezing darkness by the entrance to Block 5.
Before long another boy joined them. He was number 26. A lean, curly haired eleven year old with a pale, cold, narrow face and black, colder, narrower eyes. He had been assigned to work in Block 5, running errands for the men who worked there. As a result, he had developed a liking for brewing and trying out many different kinds of tea. A go between of sorts, he often used his position to smuggle other boys inside the building for events like this. It was a very risky thing to do, but the benefits were enormous. None of the seniors were permitted to touch or harass him in any way, and the other boys routinely took care of his portion of domestic chores without asking questions. In return, he usually could be counted on to ensure that the other boys knew what was going on in Block 5, and that small numbers of them could actually sneak inside to watch for themselves from reasonably safe hiding places.
However, there was a problem today.
"I can't get you all in." He said. His voice was soft and raspy, already beginning to break with the onset of puberty. "The most I can manage today is two."
The other boys were not happy. They let him know this in very colorful terms.
"Look, there is nothing I can do tonight, alright? The supervisors are also interested; so the room is being monitored, and both rooms with two way mirrors are already taken. It is weird for so many of them to be so interested in an initiation." He curved his lips dryly. "It seems the new boy has gotten them all excited, but I doubt it is just because of his pretty face. Even Mr. Petrov himself is coming down to watch tonight."
That came as a surprise. It was very strange for the director show an interest in this particular extracurricular activity. Petrov was not a pedophile. Everyone knew that the man was a pure intellectual. To him, the children were primarily test subjects; barely human, fairly important but ultimately expendable tools for his research. His sole interest in the boys was academic. However, while he never personally abused any of them, he did not interfere with the abusive activities of the other instructors. He let them do just as they pleased as long as it did not interfere with the experiment. Indeed, the results of some of their abusive activities had certainly proved invaluable to his research.
The fact that he was coming to Block 5, personally, to watch the 'initiation' of a new test subject, was completely unprecedented. There was only one reason he would do such a thing; he expected something very unusual to happen. Something of invaluable academic interest.
19 began to look as if he was almost having second thoughts about going through with the bet. He gave the younger boy a very sharp look, wondering exactly what it was that he knew.
37 was silent, but his smile was wide enough to show large, gleaming teeth. His eyes were positively glowing with barely suppressed excitement.
The older boy grunted and looked away. He could not afford to call off the bet now; besides, he had to admit that he was curious. What was it that this tiny, crazily dangerous boy had seen in the new boy that excited him so much? What was it about the new boy that interested their supervisors so intensely?
"Let us both in then." He said quietly. He looked at the other boys. "Go back to the dorm. You will hear from us soon." The other boys nodded and left, leaving the two group leaders alone with their go-between. "You can judge for us," he asked the eleven year old. "Right?"
26 nodded."Come on then." He said. "Follow me, and do not make a sound."
They followed the eleven year old, darting through narrow corridors and up a deserted flight of stairs.
"There are only two places that I figure will be fairly safe to watch from. I dug holes in the wall of the broom closet, and then there is the ventilation shaft, but that is too small, and far too risky with all the equipment they've put in."
The broom closet was small, and quite cramped. But neither boy complained. They were far too interested in watching what was going to happen.
The holes provided a very clear view of the small, bare, windowless room dominated by wall to wall mirrors, with a narrow, single bed. The room was very brightly lit by several fluorescent bulbs. A single chair and a desk with a set of drawers were the only other furniture in the room. The new boy's clothes hung neatly from a peg on the wall. There were two doors. The door that led to the tiny adjoining bathroom was closed.
The boy himself was in bed. He lay on his side, slightly curled up and faced away from the light. As they watched, his eyes opened. He turned, lay on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. A scant few seconds later, he was on his side again, facing away from them.
"A little restless, isn't he?" observed the older boy.
"His records did say he was a very light sleeper." Commented 26 softly.
The other boys looked at him incredulously.
"You read his file?!" exclaimed 19.
26 rolled his eyes. "The supervisors mentioned it." he said slowly, as if he was talking to idiots.
37 frowned. He really did not like the eleven year old's attitude. Their guide was about the only boy in 511 with an unlimited license to be rude, and he used it with impunity.
"They say he sleeps much better in the dark too" continued their guide, "Which is probably why they have left such bright lights on."
"Hmm" smirked the older boy. "Sick motherfuckers, aren't they?"
Their guide nodded briefly in agreement, a cold smile twisting his lips. "Of course, there is also the fact that he is not used to sleeping alone."
"He had a family?" asked the older boy somewhat dubiously.
"A twin sister. They say the two of them were very close… abnormally so. There was even some talk about running tests to determine whether they have some sort of telepathic bond."
The older boy scoffed. "Like that shit really exists."
"You'd be surprised."
The youngest boy frowned, considering this. He decided that he did not like it.
"What happened to the sister, did you hear?" He asked, speaking up for the first time.
"They did not say much about her."
"Is she still alive though?" He pressed.
"I think so."He shrugged. "I suspect they put her in a regular orphanage, since the director was rather upset about not being able to have access to her for some of the tests they planned to run. Kinderhiem 47 would be my guess. The director there has a reputation among our supervisors for being difficult. She coddles her kids, and she won't allow experiments on them. She tells them all the time that 47 is not a 'special' government facility like 511, and refuses to let anyone touch her kids for any reason. I guess that's why they were upset. They cannot study the twins as a pair if Ms Tietze refuses to cooperate. That girl is very lucky."
"True. Did they say what she looked like?" The oldest asked curiously.
"I heard someone mention that she looks a lot like her brother."
"She must be hot then." 19 commented. "I'd definitely like to meet her." He added with a sly grin.
The two younger boys gave him a strange look.
"She… is… eight… years… old." 26 pointed out, very slowly, and very reasonably.
"She… has… a… pu…ssy." The teen replied bluntly. His tone was very matter of fact. "You know," he added wistfully, "it's been a quite a while since I've actually seen one of those. I miss them."
The guide looked at him with extreme disgust.
"You are a revolting pedophile."
"So is everyone else in the fucking building. Since when do you care?"
"Girls are different, asshole."
"Really? How so?"
"They are only good for sex when they've got boobs."
The older teen snorted.
"How naïve. You poor, little baby." He scoffed. "You still have much to learn about this cold, hard, wicked world."
"Would you two please keep it down?" interrupted 37. "Someone's coming in."
There was immediate silence. All three boys looked through their respective holes.
The New Boy was no longer lying down. He was sitting upright on the bed. The door in front of him was creaking open.
Before long, one of the supervisors walked in. He was a tall, muscular man with a harsh, square face and dark, close cropped hair. He wore a black tee shirt and military pants. His thin lips were curved upwards in a nasty smirk. His nostrils flared as he breathed, and his small, narrow eyes were fixed on the tiny boy on the bed. The look in them was predatory, and sickeningly unwholesome.
All three boys watching from the broom closet recognized him very well.
Collectively, they shuddered.
But, scared nearly out of their wits though they were, they kept on watching. Their eyes widened in fascination and lingering traces of well remembered horror as the huge muscular man loomed over the tiny boy on the bed.
Only one of them noticed that the new boy did not seem the slightest bit afraid.
It did not surprise him at all.
The blonde looked up, considering the huge man analytically as he stood over him. He watched as the man studied his slender form with appreciation. "Nice." He said, making the boys hiding inside the broom closet involuntarily cringe. He sat on the bed beside the boy, reached out and touched his face. His fingers caressed the little boy's cheek, rested under his jaw, and tilted his face up for closer inspection. "Practically flawless, how … unusual…" He smirked.
The boy did not react at all. He sat very still, considering the man's face as his large thumb traced the soft curve of his lower lip and his dark eyes surveyed his slender, pajama covered form.
"I like you" He decided. "So I intend to savor this. Do us both a favor and don't make a fuss. If you do as I say, you might even enjoy it."
The boys in the closet were livid.
"What! No Fair!"
"That's cheating!"
"Lucky bastard," grumbled 19. "I got two broken ribs, a million contusions and a dislocated right arm. He gets a cozy fucking love scene just because he has a pretty face."
"Yeah." 26 sounded disgusted "Why don't they break out the candles and the violin while they are at it. This sucks."
"He's gonna end up a whore now." 19 informed 37. "You might as well just pay up."
"We don't know that yet!" The younger group leader protested immediately. But for the first time, he sounded doubtful. "Let's just wait and see what happens."
"Clutching at straws, are you?" The older teen snorted. "Pitiful. Still, I appreciate the free porn. Just make sure you are ready to suck me off as soon as the show's over."
The younger boy frowned and bit his lip, but he said nothing. He turned back to his peephole to watch.
The new boy was silent. His expression was innocently tranquil. It seemed to unsettle the older man a bit.
"Nothing to say, Kid?"
The boy just stared at him.
Without further ado, he moved, pinning the tiny form of the smaller boy to the bed.
The three watching boys unconsciously winced.
The new boy lay very still as the bigger man undid the buttons of his pajama shirt. He watched the adult with vague curiosity as he pushed it aside, revealing his pale, slender chest and tiny, rose pink nipples.
"Hmm." He said appreciatively. "Nice." He raised an eyebrow. "You don't talk much, do you?"
The boy just looked at him. His gaze was quietly analytical.
"You have nothing to say? Fair enough, I suppose."
His fingers were wiry and brown against the pale, smoother skin of the younger boy. He ran his fingertips over slightly prominent ribs, and a slender chest. His large thumbs nudged the child's nipples, and then slowly circled them. His left hand moved lower, sliding over tiny, barely pronounced abs, dipping into his belly button, then sliding under the elastic band of his pajama bottoms. He touched the boy, and then quite suddenly, he stopped. Incredulously, he pulled the elastic band of the child's pajama bottoms up, peeked underneath, and lifted an appreciative eyebrow.
"Well, well. They were right. You really were very specially bred. I admire the attention to detail." He smirked. "And I'll bet you've never actually used it. How cute." He reached under the soft cotton material. His voice became a low whisper. "Don't worry. I'll show you what it is meant for."
Quite suddenly, the boy began to laugh.
His laughter was loud, derisive, and uproarious. It startled the unseen watchers as well as his would be molester.
The man was shocked, then supremely offended. He was accustomed to provoking several different reactions from boys in this situation. Mocking and uproarious laughter was not one of them.
"What the hell is your problem, Kid?"
"Forgive me." The boy replied, making a noble effort to suppress his laughter. "But I really couldn't help it. It is so funny, watching you. I knew they would try something like this, and I knew they would send someone like you… but I honestly had not expected you to be so … pathetic."
The man was taken aback. He pulled back slightly and frowned.
"You wanna get beat up, kid?"
"Not really." The boy assured him politely. "You'd kill me. Besides, I was under the impression that you were sent here to do a lot worse than beat me up." The boy lifted genuinely curious blue eyes to the older man's face. "Why would you try to turn your precious experiment into something like this?" The boy's eyes moved down. They studied the large, ring-less, sunburned left hand that was half buried under his pajama bottoms. When he looked up again, the look in his eyes was honestly sympathetic. "You are single, aren't you?" His voice was mild, and inquiring. "And I'll bet you live on your own. What do you do alone in your quarters after work? What are you really looking for whenever you volunteer to do things like this to little boys like me?" The child studied his face gravely. "You are not very old… and I don't think you look too bad. I have known some women to settle for far worse. Even uglier men than you have stable relationships at your age. It makes no sense. Why should someone like you choose to remain single? Why do you keep looking for fulfillment in … children? What is it we do for you that fully grown women… or men… cannot do?"
"Your file was right about you. You are a pretty devious kid. And you ask too many damn questions."
"Your hand is down my pants. I think I have a right to know some basic things about you."
"Welcome to 511. You have no rights here. And believe me, you are getting it a lot easier than the unfortunate little bastards who came before you, so quit yapping and enjoy this while you can. The others will not be as nice as me."
He began to stroke the boy, but the blonde squirmed, and pulled away.
The older man frowned.
"I can figure out the answers myself." The boy said quickly, diverting his attention from whatever he had been planning to say. "You want me to try?"
"Don't get cocky, brat. You are lucky I happen to like you… but don't push it."
"I am sorry. But I could not help it. I find you rather… interesting."
The older man went still. He looked up, at the boy's face, and then he smiled. "Really now?" His hand under the waistband resumed stroking, but this time, the strokes were gentler, and more deliberate. "Just lie back, and stop moving about so much. I will show you how much more 'interesting' I can get." He held the boy down with a very firm grip, leaned down and licked one of his nipples with his tongue. "Say still"
He leaned over, rolled his tongue around the tiny pink nipple, coaxing it erect.
The boy made another attempt to move, but the grip that held him down was too strong.
"I don't suppose it matters to you that I really do not want this?" He inquired calmly.
The man grinned, "Mouths lie. This wants it" He palmed the boy's slowly growing hardness significantly. "So what you say does not count."
He pulled the nipple into his mouth.
"I see." A pause. "Why not?"
He did not bother answering. He was too preoccupied with the taste of the boy's skin. The sucking noises seemed obscenely loud in the silence of the room.
"A reversal of roles, is it?" The child's voice was soft.
The man went very still.
He looked up at the boy's face. His eyes were wide. His face had suddenly paled.
Unconsciously, his grip on the child went slack. He pulled back. His hand slipped out from the boy's pants as the child subtly moved away. The boy looked serene, almost sleepy, but the gleam in the heavy lidded eyes was incongruously alert, annoyingly smug and very quietly dangerous.
"Don't look so shocked. I told you I would figure it out." His smile grew pitying. "So who was it then? An Uncle? A teacher? A Big Brother?" He arched an inquiring brow "Or was it… Your own father?"
As sleepy and delicate as he looked, the new boy could move extremely fast when he had to. It was a good thing. If he had been a second slower, the blow would certainly have caused significant damage.
"Ah, so I was right." He smirked "It was your father."
He darted to the left in just enough time to avoid another bone crushing blow. He stood firmly balanced, bare feet apart on the cold floor, poised to move again if he had to.
His face was calm. His lips were curved in a cool, subtly mischievous smile. It amazed everyone watching that the boy could remain so completely unperturbed after dexterously avoiding the older man's furious attacks. His unbuttoned pajama top hung open. His bottoms rode so low that they threatened to expose him. His blonde hair was completely tousled. His pale skin was marred with telltale pink marks.
His eyes were as hard as steel.
There was no melting vulnerability on display in those eyes; they lacked even the smallest trace of fear. The boy looked disheveled, and generally disreputable. But his face was serene; his expression was utterly composed as he considered his attacker.
"Please calm down." He said politely "Try taking deep breaths. It usually helps to cool the temper." The boy's smile was almost cynical. "I apologize if I touched a nerve."
"God, this kid is fucking crazy," said the older teen in the broom closet.
"No." said 37, fidgeting restlessly and breathing heavily with an excitement he could barely contain. His grin was wide and his eyes were glowing. This was what he had seen. This was the master of pack leaders at work, and it surpassed all his expectations. "He isn't crazy. He's Brilliant."
Both boys in the closet gave him a very strange look.
Then suddenly 19 smiled.
"You have a boner, don't you?" He smirked.
Immediately, 37 turned bright red.
"Shut up!"
He was very glad that the closet was too dark to let the other two see his telltale blush.
The older teen snickered. 26 sighed tolerantly.
Inside the mirrored, brightly lit room, the bigger man took several deep breaths, and struggled to match his victim's calmness.
"You have a smart mouth, don't you, brat?" The larger man smirked. "You should be very careful what you say."
"Was I wrong then?" The boy asked innocently.
"You were completely and utterly wrong."
"I was?"
"Yes!" He barked.
"Forgive me, but I do not agree." The boy placed his hands thoughtfully behind his back. He considered the older man with speculative eyes. "The facts here speak for themselves." His eyes narrowed. "You are an intimidating man; huge, muscular, and completely scary to an unarmed little boy like me. There is no question that you have the upper hand here. This means that you like to prey on those who are weaker than yourself. And what they want does not matter. Your will has to dictate theirs. Why are you so afraid of a having normal relationship with a person who just might be as strong as you? Why do you try so hard to prove that you are strong? Why is your need to prove it so desperate? Just who are you trying to please?" The boy tilted his head inquiringly. "I wonder; it is because it all has to work according to the script you have written in your head?"
"What?"
"It is a play, isn't it? A little drama you acted with your father for years… and you were the one who always played the weak and helpless part; the one who would end up being used and thrown away. You were the one who was worthless, who was ultimately not loved."
The boy smiled up at the ashen face of the older man.
"My observation surprises you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why should it? It is so obvious. There is nothing really unique about you. You are very transparent… and as I pointed out before, rather pathetic." He smiled "Even a child younger than I am can see that you are terribly frightened of becoming the weak one again. You hold children down and force them to give you pleasure because it gives you a temporary illusion of power. You seduce the particular children who attract you because you want them to value you. You try to buy their love by giving them the sort of physical pleasure you know is new to them. You make them need you, because it makes you feel relevant when they do. It was the same with your father, wasn't it? You struggled to buy his love by pleasing his body, because in your heart you knew that all you were to him was a tool. You were not his son. You were a cheap piece of equipment; a convenient little receptacle that he would use anytime he felt the urge, and toss aside when he was done."
"That is a lie!"
"Did it work, selling your body to your father? Did it buy you the love you so desperately wanted?" The boy's smile was full of pity "Somehow, I doubt it. Would you be inside this room forcing children to have sex with you if it did?" He smirked. "You can claim all you want that it is just part of their experiment, that you do what you have to do for science, and for the glory of this country, but that does not change the fact that you are essentially a rapist… a repulsive pedophile, like your father was."
"Shut up!"
"Really, two way mirrors." The boy smiled scornfully at the men he could not see, who watched from behind the glass. "Tacky, and crass" His gaze slid back to the older man. "You did not change much, did you? You really would do anything to please those you see as father figures, wouldn't you? You know that they are watching, and you do things like this in front of them. You provide sexual entertainment for favors and material benefit. I must confess that I do not know a whole lot about these things, but that is the definition of prostitution, isn't it?"
The boy made no attempt to run as the man grabbed him by the shoulders. There was no need to. He could clearly see that the older man was beginning to break.
"Shut up!"His eyes were wild. His voice was shaking. "You are eight! You can't talk like this! You can't know these things! Stop talking about stuff you don't fucking understand!"
The child's eyes were blue and tranquil. They stared into the eyes of the man.
"Where was your mother?" He asked, softly.
The man froze.
"All those times you lay on your back and prostituted yourself to satisfy your father's lust, where was she?" The boy studied him. "Did she know?"
The older man let go. His expression gave the boy all the answers he needed.
The child smiled, clearly savoring the man's agony.
"She was there, wasn't she?" He said softly. "She knew." He smiled. "She did not like it, did she?" She must have resented you. Maybe she even hated you for stealing her husband away. She must have been so disgusted at the sight of you. I am sure she regretted it… having you, I mean. She probably regretted every single day that she had ever carried something so dirty and shameful inside her. I am sure there were times she looked at you, and you looked deep into her eyes, and you could feel her wishing that you were dead… that you did not exist at all. You felt it when she smiled at you, didn't you? Her eyes were always cold, weren't they? And you knew. You knew it was because those eyes did not see her son. They saw an empty, loathsome thing that they silently wished would just disappear."
"That is not true! She loved me!"
"Did she?" The boy asked. "I can't pretend to know what it was like for you. I wasn't there, so perhaps I am wrong." He shrugged "But this really has nothing to do with me. It is all about you. It is your own past. Think about it; remember those things you know, those secrets you will never tell a soul, those memories of your mother that hurt you to contemplate. Everyone has them, you know. Think about the things you have told no one, and then ask yourself, did she love you? Can you truly convince yourself that she did? Could she really have loved a person like you? Was there anything remotely lovable about the polluted, sinful, disgusting thing that you were? Do you honestly think that people like you truly deserve to be loved… or even to live?"
The man was quiet. His eyes were wide as they stared at the boy.
"There is a reason you are still single. If your own mother could not love you, what woman would? If your own father could only see you as a thing he could use, what value does your existence have? If the very woman who gave you life could hate you enough to wish you dead, what reason do you have to live?"
The boy studied him under half closed lashes. His voice was a soft, almost sleepy alto.
"Do you want to know why I think that you are pathetic? It isn't because of your parents, or your childhood. It is not even because of your pitiful, ham fisted attempt to seduce me. It is because you are in pain. It rots you from inside and you are sick with it, but instead of doing what you know you should do to end it, you spread your pain around, like a disease. You infect innocent children's lives, and contaminate them with your own worthlessness. And when you do this, you increase the number of people who ultimately despise you. This is why you are pathetic. You are such a coward. You lack the simple ability to face up to your responsibilities and end the diseased blight that is your existence. "
The man stared at the boy. He could not say a word. The look on his face was perplexed and rather dazed, as if he was struggling to understand exactly what it was that he was looking at, and figure out exactly what had happened.
The boy turned from him, and quietly began to button up his shirt. The man watched as the boy finished readjusting his clothes. Ignoring the older man, he climbed back into his narrow bed, pulled the thin covers up to his chest and clutched them to himself in that peculiar, endearing manner common among children everywhere.
He was just an eight year old boy, when all was said and done.
"I'm tired." His voice was polite. "I want to sleep now. If you have nothing else to do here, please leave."
In a daze, the older man turned, and made for the door.
"Oh and if you don't mind, get one of them to turn the lights out. The experiment should be over for tonight. The very least you people can do is let me sleep."
Completely docile, the older man nodded.
"Thank you. Good night."
The man left. A few minutes afterward, the lights in the room dimmed, then went out altogether.
There was complete silence in the darkness of the broom closet.
"Holy Shit" 19 murmured in awe, breaking the silence. 'Holy Fucking Shit!"
"Warrior" 26 breathed. "Definitely warrior."
"I believe," said 37 smugly, "Your boys owe mine dinners for a week…" he grinned "and kitchen duty."
To be continued?
As you see, this has a rather high squick level, even for me.
If you made it this far, please review. I would really like to know your opinion.
Do I continue it… or do I keep just keep yucky stuff like this to myself?
Please let me know what you think.
Thanks for reading! You guys are awesome!