Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Redemption Gone Rogue
What happens when redemption goes wrong?
The recovery process was slow and arduous, both physically and emotionally. His brother was not listed on any of the survivor lists, nor was his wife or child. In an instant, he had lost all he had worked for.
Physically, his body was wrecked beyond recognition. Death would have been preferable, but he was not so lucky. The radiation from the mine, coupled with the radiation from digging his way out had irreversibly altered his DNA. Medical advancement could only hold his degradation in stasis, but the doctors could not stop the natural consequence of his circumstance.
The persistent vomiting stopped, but that was the only upshot of his condition. His hair fell out in clumps – the only place it didn't was his eyebrows. His skin continued to peel, not just from his hands but from his whole body, flaking off like dandruff. Gaping holes appeared around his lips and cheeks, revealing decaying gum and bone. His vocal chords were affected too, a voice that became low and gravelly. The cancers that would inevitably settle in his stomach, his lungs and his thyroid and would eat him from the inside out burned a cord of resentment deep within him.
The disfiguration of his body continued long after he was discharged from hospital. His hands grew larger, as did his head and feet. His fingers and toes remained twisted and gnarled, like tree roots.
He remained shut up in a tiny flat in a back alley; the house he was living in before the earthquake struck had crumbled to the ground, much like his life had. Couldn't even venture outside for some fresh air and daylight; if the sun didn't aggravate his skin, the stares of shock and revulsion from strangers on the street was enough to make him self conscious.
The resentment bubbled more vigorously as he realised what he had lost.
She – the miner he had been trapped with – came and visited him, the only relatively bright spot in a world of pain and suffering. They talked as they had once before – well, she talked. He grunted, trapped in his own misery at their situation. She was not as maimed as he was, but she was able to see through it. She stayed by him through it all, showing him a sliver of tenderness and love in a world that was harsh and bleak – whether it was through genuine desire, obligation or an act of charity – he did not know, but he was grateful for the company. It served as a distraction from his grief over his lost family and previous life. It gave him a glimpse of a potential future.
The skulked around the streets of a city at sunset; with her encouragement, long clothing and a mask covering his face, he could revel in a rare moment of beauty in his rage-filled world. People milled around them, barely giving them a second glance. She threaded her fingers through his, a subtle gesture. The muscles in his face twitched involuntarily at the action. It was enough movement to dislodge his mask. It was enough for strangers to recoil away from him, cross the road and avert their eyes in abject horror and disgust.
He replayed the moment in his head that night on a continuous loop while she lay beside him, asleep. He couldn't live the way he had been living, clinging onto the relics of a normal life. How could he be normal, being the way he was? She was only there out of obligation, out of pity. The hatred within in grew, fuelled by the rage he had not been able to quell, nor had he wanted to; he wanted to unmask the worthless, useless team that had abandoned him to rot. But it was not fair to her to subject her to his misery any longer, unfair to saddle her to a life he was meant to live in solitude.
He gathered some of his meagre belongings and slipped out the flat, robbing himself of any happiness, like a thief in the night.
He ventured deep into the jungle, finding an abandoned temple that he would use as his lair. A shrine for his late brother was set up – he was not wholly a monster yet – one that had given him a second shot in life. It seemed fitting to honour his memory.
His resentment turned into obsession. There was no other reason for him to live but to seek retribution against those that had wronged him. He started off with the supervisors of the mine – after all, if they had complied with safety standards, the mine wouldn't have trapped him during the earthquake. Their end came agonisingly slowly; he buried them alive, hands bound and mouth gagged so they couldn't escape their inevitable fate, under radioactive ore he had scavenged. Let them suffer as he had.
He thought that would have been enough, but it fed the beast that wanted just desserts against his nemesis.
International Rescue. Hah!
If he came across those rescuers and they happened to be on fire, he wouldn't pee on them to put them out. They could burn until they died, the same way the radiation burned him from the inside out as he lived.
He had to find a way to get close to them, undetected.