Chapter 10:

It felt hot. It felt as though he was burning from the inside. A little more heat would probably melt his own skin off.

He struggled hard. He kicked and flailed, despite the fact that he was sure that none of his movements would really help extinguish the inferno inside of him. But he still struggled, as he felt inclined to do something- anything, just to get his mind off of the hellish sensation.

He suddenly felt something touch his forehead. It was warm, but it was the comforting kind unlike the fire inside of him. It help relieve the heat slowly, up until it was nothing more than a tiny little flick of flame that he could barely feel.

"Tony."

A woman's voice called out to him. It was familiar. It was comforting. It sounded like home. He wanted to go and get close to the source of the sound, but he couldn't even open his own eyes.

He was stuck in the dark, unable to move. But he was oddly okay with it. The thing on his forehead slowly moved down, so that it caressed his cheek.

"Tony," the voice was softer than he had ever hear. "Wake up. Open your eyes."

He wanted nothing more than to do just that. But the more he tried, the harder it seemed to open them. The woman must have sensed his distress, as he suddenly felt its owner move from his cheek up to his eyes.

Slowly, he was able to open them. Only to be met by the sight of familiar blindingly white walls. Right in front of him was his mother, but it felt wrong somehow.

He finally realized that she was wearing scarily spotless laboratory gowns, partnered with equally white cap and gloves. Her mask was down, revealing a face with a malice that he's never seen before on his mother's face.

It scared him. Until it dawned on him that he was simply dreaming.

The woman raised her hand, revealing a syringe filled with a black liquid.

He squeezed his eyes to wake himself up, but that did not work.

The syringe got closer and closer, as he tried harder and harder to get out.

Its tip touch his forehead, and slowly started to force its way into his flesh. He could feel his own skin burning where the needle had penetrated him.

He continued to force himself to wake up.

Again,

And again,

And...


"Again."

Buckets of sweat dripped from a mop of brown hair down to a dirty white shirt that absorbed it all. Brown eyes glared at a white clad man holding a clipboard in front of him, as though wishing for the white to turn into ashes. He wanted to attack the man with all his strength, but he can only continue to glare due to the metal straps that held him tightly against a metal chair.

"No."

"Try to think of fire again."

"No."

"Again, #12."

"I said no." The boy responded. "And my name is Tony."

The man in white heaved a sigh as he dropped his clipboard in resignation. He pulled down his mask, and tiredly rubbed his sloppily groomed stubble.

"Jesus Christ, you're one hard-headed little shit."

The sight had been enough to make the boy gape in shock. It was his first time to see a scientist without their pristine white mask. The normality behind the mask had simply caught him off guard.

"You're human..." He unconsciously whispered.

"Huh? What else would I be?" The man offhandedly replied, while he furiously rubbed at his tired eyes. His eyes suddenly snapped wide, remembering that he wasn't even supposed to be talking to a specimen.

"A monster."

"What...?" The man couldn't help but reply in confusion.

"You're supposed to be a monster." The boy repeatedly shook his head, his mind not yet processing a new concept. "You can't be normal underneath. You're not supposed to be human."

"Ah."

The man simply gaped at the specimen- no, the boy. They were seen as monsters. His colleagues, his friends, and even himself. They were all monsters in this boy's eyes, and all the other wide eyes that they see dimming on a day to day basis.

"We're not monsters."

He had no idea what compelled him to talk, and defend himself. He just simply felt like he had to say something, just to convince both him and the boy that he was not a monster.

"Why do you do all of these then?" The boy glared. He had always been one to feel and act, rather than think. He did not understand the logic of their actions, he probably never will.

The man did not speak for a long time. He wanted to compose his thoughts first. He wanted to make everything sound clear to him.

"We just want to live."

"So you kill off little brats like me," the boy spat with so much anger. "You want to live, so you completely disregard our want to live just to save yourselves!"

"That's not it." He had no idea what was there to argue about. "We're trying to give you a new shot in life. We only want you to be able to go out there as Estraneo's without having to fear your for your lives!"

"Fuck the Estraneo!"

"Fuck the Mafia!"

"Fuck you!"

"Look-"

"Look at what!?"

A little lab rat screaming against a scientist was certainly a sight to see. Everything looked, smelled, and tasted surreal, like it was a scene none of them imagined.

"I don't know..." The man whispered. "I have no idea."

"All I know is that I have to do this."

"You don't really understand any of these, either?" The boy's anger is slowly being changed into confusion.

"Not a thing." The man replied. "I just know that I have to do this if I want to see my daughter again."

The confession had shocked both of them into silence. The two just simply stared at each other until the boy shakily asked,

"Y-you have a child?"

The man wanted to not answer the boy, but eventually caved in at the thought of him never getting the chance to speak about his sentiments outside the tiny four-walled cell.

"A lot of us do." He started. "The man who delivers your meals, the person that cleans the facilities, the surgeons that cut people open. Most of them have a family to care for, and all of us have our children strapped down the same chains, living in the same cell, eating the same food."

"They could be dead already, though. Which is a highly likely scenario." He shrugged. "We don't really get news about them, so we wouldn't know."

"... Why are you telling me all these?"

"I'm not really sure, either." The man chuckled. "Maybe it's because you're the only one willing to listen."

"And your friends?"

"They're colleagues, not friends." The man corrected. "This is a place for work. There are no room for hearts."

The boy did not speak anymore, opting to absorb all the things he had learned in the span of an hour. He wasn't the only one hurting, he realized. Yes, there are a lot of sick men in white in this place, but there are also ones that are only here to save their loved ones.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," the man said as he picked up his discarded clipboard. "Hopefully, you'll be easier to work with, then."

The man was in the process of removing the straps from the boy, save from the ones on his limbs, when the boy asked,

"If I were to improve, what would happen to then?"

"Hmm? First, you'll get to go out of quarantine and back to your old cell. Train, and one you're good enough, move out of the labs completely. Maybe even reunited with your old family, if you still have one."

The boy had a hard time sleeping that night. Instead, he had thought about going back to his old cell, where Ken and #49 was. Next, he thought about getting out of the laboratory. He thought about being released from the white hell he's been the past few months.

He did not think about his family. He knew that thinking about his mother would only hurt. Not when he's seen her die right in front of him.

But he could still dream of her, he supposed.


"Just what have I told you about fighting the big kids down the block?" A young woman sighed whilst tending to her brown haired son's swollen eye and wounds.

"They started it!" He shouted.

His mother simply dabbed a cotton ball of alcohol harder against a small cut. The boy hissed in pain, his eyes tearing up at the unexpected discomfort.

"Tony..." The woman sighed. "It doesn't matter who started it."

"I ask you time and time again not to get into fights anymore- to turn the other cheek, but you always disobey me over and over." Her voice held so much tiredness in them.

"I'm sorry." His lips trembled into a childish-looking pout with his sincere remorse.

"It's okay," his mother could not resist how adorable her son looked. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

The child nodded whilst trying to inhale the mucous threatening to drip from his nose.

"I want you to mean it this time."

"I won't fight again, I promise."

She let him go after tending to him, knowing perfectly well that Tony was going to disobey her order again the first chance he gets.

She constantly worried about him and his rowdy behavior. Children fighting children weren't uncommon in their dirty neighborhood- especially not in their world. But still, seeing her five year old son come home looking more like a bruise than a child just pulls strings within her.

She sighed,

"That child will be the death of me."