As soon as the transport to the "re-education facility" had involved him getting a blindfold over his eyes, Ian knew that something was going on.

His blood was running cold.

This couldn't be the justice system running the place, but something else. A year back, he remembered reading about "specialty schools" programs which were basically just scams depriving the parents of their money for false promises, leaving the kids to suffer abuse at the hands of untrained personnel.

Had David and Carol fallen prey to a similar scheme?

But no ... it couldn't be just that, because those programs at least tried to make the kids behave better. And he had been deliberately made to behave the way he did. Chemically.

Just for a fleeting moment his fear was replaced with curiosity. It was possible he was witnessing some kind of conspiracy. If the facility was just a front for a secret program of some kind. To train elite fighters or something like that. Not that he wanted any of that, but if this was the reality he couldn't escape, then he would have to try his best. To let loose whatever beast was within him.

Suddenly he remembered more, something odd. Very early at school, possibly first or second grade.

The nurse had tested him for reflexes, and when he had talked to the other kids about it, they looked at him like he was out of his mind. They had received no such test.

But now Ian was jolted out of his thoughts as the van transporting him braked to a halt at last.

...

After the arrival, Ian had been ushered to a dark room and ordered to strip. Now he stood under a bright spotlight, dripping wet from the spray of water from a hose. He was certainly being observed, but he could not see by whom.

"Somewhat thin. But will do," a voice muttered.

A towel, some underwear and a featureless jumpsuit was thrown at him.

"Get dressed," another louder voice barked.

He did as ordered, glad to at least not be naked any more. As soon as he was done, a door opened at the far end of the room. Ian thought of the light at the end of the tunnel. As far as he could tell, all of this could be just a dream or hallucination before dying. It was hard to think of it as real at all. Though the pain from the jet of water had been very real.

He walked through the door, into a featureless white-tiled corridor. Soon, he emerged into a doctor's or nurse's room. There was a woman in white coat, and in the corner of the room stood a black-uniformed guard, armed with a submachine gun. Clearly, these people weren't messing around. Very likely, a secret program. Pure X-Files or Bourne territory.

"Is this killer training?" Ian raised his voice to ask. Though it could have consequences.

"Shut up," the guard snapped. "Didn't they tell you to only speak when spoken to?"

But the woman smiled just slightly, like Ian had in fact guessed exactly right.

"Lie down on the bed so I can take a blood sample. It should not hurt," she said.

Again, Ian did as ordered, and she tightened a strap on his left arm to make the vein visible, then pushed the needle in.

After the first and second vials, Ian began to question the procedure. Wasn't that enough already? As the drawing of blood still went on, he began to feel dizzy. Were they deliberately draining him of blood?

At five vials the woman finally stopped and drew the needle out, replacing it with a hastily taped wad of cotton. Ian's head was now throbbing nastily, and he was seeing black spots, like close to fainting.

"Very good. Now you need to get up and through that door," she said.

Ian had difficulty staying upright. He passed the guard, and just for an instant thought of grabbing his weapon and shooting both him and the woman dead.

"You'd want it?" the guard snarled. "Good. But don't try it. Or you'd be dead."

The impression strengthened. This was all about getting his killer instincts or whatever up. It was already so much beyond normal, so much beyond reality that it was hard to feel anything. Maybe that was the exact purpose. Ian concentrated now only on staying upright and conscious, as he emerged into another dark room.

A spotlight came on again, and he understood he was facing another boy roughly his age and height, with head shaved bald.

It was pretty much self-evident. He was expected to fight in this weakened state.

But to state the obvious, a voice came from a concealed loudspeaker. "Fight."

Ignoring the dizziness, Ian rushed forward almost by instinct. It was like accepting the inevitable. He was not to have a normal life, but to be trained to fight (and very likely to kill too) in this hellhole.

Fuck you all! Then he would fight.

At least this kid was unknown to him, not like Chuck. So he had no reason to hold anything back. For a moment a voice in the back of his head still said that violence was terrible and should be avoided, but there was exactly zero choice given to him.

So, let all the aggression out. Like last time.

The problem was, after the transportation that had left him stiff, not to even mention the drawing of blood, that was easier said than done. Ian found himself running mostly on empty.

He collided with the boy, their bodies tangled, and Ian unleashed a few body blows that did not seem to do much. His opponent responded with a blow to his cheek, and Ian lost his balance, almost blacking out.

Fuck. He could not do much. He wasn't even that physically strong. It was just the aggression that gave him strength.

But just as he was falling, it was like something in his mind took over, almost if time slowed down, and he understood to utilize his momentum and sweep forward with his foot to make the boy trip over too.

He fell roughly in front of Ian, and just for a moment Ian had the chance, so he sprang forward, which made the throbbing in his head much worse, but it just had to be ignored, and was on top of the boy now, pummelling him with a series of blows before he could get his defense up. It was like Ian was channelling strength out of nowhere, and the headache was fading to the backgrond, almost supernaturally.

The voice on the loudspeaker came back. "That is enough."

Ian stood up, while the other boy didn't. But at least his chest still moved.