So... Since this is an M rated fic, I thought I would have some fun with it. This is a more mature chapter. Read at your discretion.
There was something wrong.
Moreso than what he had already seen. More than he already knew. From the omnious white and grey halls that smelt of antiseptic and blood, to the eery quiet that had recently over come the facility.
It had been more bearable when the men and women had been screaming. At least then he knew his men were dealing with the issue. Now though, he just walked the halls ever as silent as he was before. His ears remained ever vigil for more noise. Nothing ever came.
Curiously, he began opening the various doors, stepping inside some rooms, searching for what had been stolen from his people.
Each room appeared to have nothing more than their insufferable computers. He knew their use, but there had to be more. He had been searching for almost a year.
He knew their kind too. They'd start immediately.
It was only when he began to enter the lower levels did he feel his body grow slightly ill. The smell of blood was stronger. A rancid and sickly smell was heavy in the air. Old dirty blood. Fresh spilt blood. The coppery smell churned his stomach but he continued on. The walls appeared clean. No traces of blood anywhere. Nothing to make that smell.
It was clean. He placed his hand on one of the door's handles. He pulled slightly, only to discover it was locked. He wasn't bothered by it. He merely tightened his grip and ripped the door off it's hinges. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the room before him. Unlike the halls, it was dark, dirty and a fresh wave of blood overcame his nose. He waited a moment for his eyes to take in all that he was seeing.
Along the backside of the room, a child was lying on the ground, their back to the concrete. Their eyes were staring towards him, but unseeing little orbs as the child could no longer close them. Dirty blonde hair was matted and uneven, caked in who knew what. One of their hands lay in front of them, the tips coated red with no doubt blood. Perhaps to fight off an attacker? It seemed as though whatever had faced the child won though. Their throat seemed to have been ripped out, by a large dog like creature. The sides of the neck were torn horribly. Skin was hanging loosely off their neck, only begining to harden under the drying excess of blood. Muscle was clearly seen, torn and mutilated by something blunt but strong. Something narrow and thin.
The man walked over to the child. Glassy eyes didn't move as they faced his feet. He leaned down slowly and gently closed their eyes. A service to the wrongly dead. He would have to alert the other authorities, of what had transpired.
With a heavy heart, he began to check the other rooms. Each one, was no better than the first. Some had their eyes closed, some were sitting, leaning against the wall. A few had smiles on their dead faces as if they were pleased. All had their hands coated in blood. Each one had their necks destroyed.
He had seen twenty six corpses so far, he dreaded the number rising when he heard something. It wasn't one of his men. It sounded far too young. He quickly and quietly left the room he was in and made his way to the sound. It was a whimper. No doubt a child. It sounded mournful and despondent. Then, a choked cry. Despite being less than a minute to reach the door of the crying individual, it felt like an eternity to the man. With no hesitation, he removed the door like he had the others. Unlike the others, there was a hoarse and shrill yell that accompanied it along with the scurrying of a small body.
"Be still child. I will not harm you."
The child didn't listen as they backed into a corner. Their dialated eyes were locked on him, waiting for him to move. Brown hair was matted around their face, leaving it difficult to identify a gender. Their hands though, they weren't in front of him as if they were to protect himself, nor were they on the wall, searching for something to climb up, but rather seemed firmly placed on either side of his neck.
Wait, not firmly, his fingers seemed to be scratching at his neck. The man walked over to the child slowly, as to not frighten them. Unfortunately, the child started bawling and despite having nowhere else to go, kept moving their feet trying to get closer to the wall. Away from the man. His hands though, they began to claw desperately at his neck. The man saw the nails turning red from the marks, the fresh scratches. With lightning fast reflexes, he grabbed the kid's wrists and pulled them from their neck. The kid screeched and began thrashing in the man's grip. He kicked and attempted to bite the man and squirm away as the man stared at the scratched up neck.
They had done it. They had done it to a child. To children. He could only imagine the irritation and pain they had endured. That this one was still going through. Dry gills were unpleasant at best. But the child's were flaky and cracked, far from the needed level of hydration. They were also a greenish color. While not bad per say, it did tell the man that this was the experiment. The gills.
This child was human now forced to live with gills. He could guess that the other children suffered the same fate.
"You need to stop touching your neck," he spoke as the child began to tire from thrashing.
"I-I hurts," the child whined through their tears.
"I know. But I can help you-"
"No! No more! Please no more!" The child cried, renewing their struggle. The man sighed and surprised the child by scooping him in one of his arms, then using his free hand to hold both of the child's away from the kid's neck. The kid turned their head away, still trying to squirm from his arms. It continued on like that through the empty halls until he had run into his men. The child squeaked in fear and turned his head into his shoulder to hide his face from the less familiar faces.
"My king. Is that-?"
"A survivor. He needs medical attention."
"My king, forgive me for asking, but are those-?"
"Yes. The child has their little project. And they'll be coming back with us."
"M'not a they," the child muttered into his shoulder, "M' a boy."
"You have a name boy?"
The young boy didn't say anything at first. But quietly, he muttered a single word.
"Peter."
"Hello Peter. I am King Namor."
Namor, suggested by Rocker On.
You all have no idea how incredibly fun that was to write. I got the idea while I was at work and I just loved the vivid imagery. Peter experimented on, only to be saved, scared for his life and in pain. I just had to roll with it. Now, it's not as gritty as I would like but that's because I'm not used to gore. So this has also been decent practice.
Edit: This just in! This story idea has been adopted by the ever lovely Dragon Courage. Their story is called Mer-Spider's Crown and I highly recommend checking it out.