Author's Note: I really hate to sound so desperate here, but I am asking my readers to please leave reviews. All forms of constructive criticism are more than welcome. I truly wish to better this story as much as possible. I want to create something you will enjoy. Thank you.

The world I awoke in was not the one I lived in. It was the purest sample of my chaotic memories. I would experience one memory, then almost immediately fall into another; constantly phasing between fragments that made no sense. Then everything was dark again.

The dark was the only peace I could ever hope for. And every time it was ripped from me. Soon everything ran together. Light, dark, memory, amnesia. It all became the same thing.

The new memories were false, constructed of broken pieces of people and mutants alike. The world solidified into something real, yet completely false. The air was dead, the buildings far too fragile to stand for very long. The slightest touch and everything collapsed.

I ran through this world, trying to get out, trying to find a tear in this fabricated fantasy. The more I tried to escape, the harder I struggled, the more powerful my strikes, the stronger the world became. The buildings solidified, no longer made of loose soil. The air remained dead, but every time I stopped, stood still, I heard it.

Breathing.

Not my own.

The breathing of a man who had been running far too long. The breathing of someone of infinite suffering. The breathing of a man with the means to break through this fantasy.

The breathing of someone wearing a gas mask.

I had heard something similar thousands of times. Blackwatch troopers wore gas masks at all times, partly for protection, partly to keep their tortured psyches calm. The breathing gave them something to focus on, to keep them in the self induced trance they had been in since they began their training. To take off the mask, would be to eliminate the only thing keeping them alive, in more ways than one.

But this sound was different.

The intake of breath was too strong, and the exhale too quiet. This man didn't breathe to stay calm. He breathed to sustain a level of fury far beyond even my limitations. His every breath was to remind himself that he was still alive, that he still existed. And as long as he continued to breathe, he had a mission.

No matter how hard I focused on the breathing, how much information I gleaned from the limited exposure, I couldn't find his name, his mind. Like a total block from the inside. A blackout of information. It infuriated me more than my imprisonment.

But I know that the information is there. I know what the answer is. But I can't say it, even within my own mind.

I know what his name is!

I know what he did!

I know how he died!

So why can't I say it?

Why can't I control this?

This fuckin' place. I hate it. I need to get the fuck out of here.

I need…

Out of here…

I NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

"Amazing. Almost like an exact copy of Carnival III, yet fragmented across the entire genetic structure. Like a puzzle."

"What about the others?"

"There's no trace of them. Randall, Greene, Cross, completely assimilated. All of them."

Voices, electronic equipment, light…

"Get this report to Stevens immediately."

AIR!

"Wait, the monitors…"

Air rushed into my lungs, my invisible chains momentarily lifted. The first time I had felt free since the Blackwatch attack, the intruder inert.

Before this feeling vanished, I moved my muscles, faster than ever before, eyes open far too wide. Everything moved in slow motion.

Doctors, scientists, people in white coats, whatever. They were there, and they had instruments with my blood on them. Before they could process my upright position, my hands had already caved their skulls in. With them dead, I got off the operation table, cables of unknown operation coming loose from my flesh. I was within a quarantine bubble, easily ripped open by my claws.

This quarantine zone was within a building I hadn't seen yet, but similar to the warehouse I had been captured in. No windows, bare walls. One door.

I ran to the door, not bothering to open it.

Breaking out of the quarantine room, I came to a long hallway. Doors were lined up on both sides, each one secure with heavy locks and metal paneling, like a prison. Overcome with a desire for answers, I checked one of the doors, breaking the lock and forcing it open.

Inside was something horrific, by someone else's standards. All four walls splattered with blood, chunks of flesh dried to the ceiling. A single body slumped against the wall opposite the door.

It was a twisted mess of bone and muscle, organs all in the wrong places, skin completely absent, yet a distinct face of terror and aguish.

I left, checking another room to see a similar scene. The further along I got in the hallway, the fresher the corpses seemed to be.

Test subjects. All of them.

Tests for what exactly, it didn't matter.

I had to get out, as soon as possible, find Stevens and destroy him one cell at a time.

I ran to the end of the hallway, a second hallway perpendicular to it. Right first.

No time for subtly. I barreled through the door, breaking it off its hinges and rolling into a new room.

This room was white, no sense of dimensions in any direction other than the door I had just broke down. In the center, sitting in a chair, hooked up to a plethora of electronic equipment, mounted monitors surrounding him, was a D-code soldier.

His head was hung, as if he was asleep. I stepped toward him, seeing all of the wires and circuit boards hooked up to exposed parts of his skin, leading to the various pieces of equipment on the ground and the monitors that were set up around him. I glanced at a screen, only for a second, but long enough to see my stolen memories being projected through the collection of pixels.

By the time I looked back at the presumably sleeping D-code, he had already stood out of his chair.

"You got close. But not close enough."

He spoke aloud, but I could feel the intruder's voice speaking within myself simultaneously.

I didn't allow the realization to form into words, I merely reacted, throwing a heavily muscle fist toward the culprit of my recent fury.

I got so close.

So close to ramming my arm down this asshole's throat.

But everything stopped an infinitesimally small distance away from his gas mask. My arm could go no further, no matter how much rage surged through my body.

He observed my fist as if it were just another object in a room, rather than a lethal weapon. He manipulated me, making me lower my arm before he punched me himself, launching me out of the room.

I recovered easily, seeing him follow me out of the room, his silent chuckle reverberating throughout my mind.

I couldn't retaliate, couldn't even begin attacking. My body was locked completely. He lifted me by the throat, looking at me through the device mounted over his eyes. He threw me through the wall of the hallway, into a more open area.

Chunks of cement and cinder blocks scattered everywhere, the tile floor stressing under my impact.

I looked up to see the D-code lumbering toward me, wires still hanging off of his body and dragging on the floor.

Unable to stand, he stomped on my chest, crushing me further into the floor.

"We were all very impressed by you in Manhattan. But you're not the only one who can adapt."

He kicked me away, crushing more and more of my skeleton.

"Blackwatch is an unstoppable force, capable of adapting to any situation, changing its tactics and operations at the slightest development. Capable of amputating anything that refuses to follow through. Killing just one insignificant General isn't enough."

He picked me up once again, crushing my throat.

"You can't even hope to get away. We created you, and now we control you."

As he continued his monologue, I felt tendrils of my own biomass slithering across my skin of their own accord, wrapping around various parts of my body tightly, binding me.

He finally dropped me, my injuries healing slowly, the tendrils still binding me.

"Sir."

I saw the D-code's back as he saluted someone.

"At ease. Report."

Stevens.

"DNA investigation complete. Zeus' genetic code has retained a fragmented copy of Unit 242's DNA."

"And what about Cross' DNA?"

"No sign. All three subjects of interest have been completely assimilated."

I saw Stevens glance at me for a moment.

"Relay these orders. Continue investigating 242's genetic remains and Zeus' memories. I want everything on my desk yesterday."

"Sir."

"And get someone to clean up that mess in the quarantine room."

Stevens walked away, swiftly leaving the room.

My formerly locked limbs began to tremble, muscle control trickling back into my consciousness. I took advantage of this tiny piece of control, attempting to break the bonds.

The D-code turned toward me, noticing my gradual return of free will. The bonds tightened, fighting against me.

I could feel pieces of me breaking on the inside, heavily reinforced bones snapping, mimicked organs bursting. The bonds constructed of my own biomass began to weaken, slowly breaking.

I could fight.

I could break free a second time.

I could kill everyone.

The strain was becoming too great, but I managed to sit up.

While the D-code's facial features were completely hidden, I could feel his frustration, his panic within myself.

I could beat him. I could overcome his control.

I could…

Pain. No. This couldn't possibly be classified as pain. There are no words to quantify this sensation's intensity. Not in English. Not in Spanish. Not in French, German, Russian, Japanese, Chinese, Latin. Not in any of the innumerable languages I knew. A sensation so intense and agonizing that rational and conscious thought was completely impossible. There was no reaction, except to seize up and scream.

Unconsciousness was soon to follow, but even unconsciousness couldn't quell this horrid incarnation of hell.

The only thing that could have comforted me was seeing the D-code clutch his head painfully before darkness overtook everything yet another time.