SO now that its summer I'll be able to post more! Yay! I have another reviewer! A few actually. Yay#2! Thank you to all of those who have followed and reviewed, this chapter's for you!
Brief Summary: Who is this Dr. Staine that Hayden dreads so much? What is the Penitentiary? What is our heroine's mutant ability? Why doesn't she use her powers? Find out here, in Nightmares and Gizmos!
-Hayden Pen
Okay everyone who's reading this. There's something I have to admit. I thought I could prolong this a bit longer, but the arrival of a certain someone kinda thwarted my plans. I'm sorry if I led you into thinking I'm a good little human, full of normal and boring stuff. I'm going to shatter your illusions right now. I'm not normal at all. Or human. In the slightest. I'm 100% villainous mutant.
Not that it exactly started out that way.
I was the product of a stupid drug-induced one-night stand at a sleazy hotel called Egyptian Oasis. My dad was a sleazebag bum from Queens living off his weed farm. My mom was an alcoholic that dabbled in heroin, born in Chicago. She nearly pickled Little Me in the womb with booze.
I know, I know, such a happy beginning, isn't it? I really wish I could say it got better.
One day, about a week before Little Pickled Me was due to be born, my mom got an anonymous email(to give you more of an idea on how crappy she is; my mom used a yahoo account). It said they'd give her one million dollars if she forked me over with no questions asked for "Scientific Observation". Any normal mom would've flipped shit and gone to the authorities, or written them back a rather strongly worded letter. Mine jumped for joy. Yay for her! More drug money! I'm pretty sure she would've given me to them for free, to be honest, just so that she wouldn't have to take time out of her busy drinking schedule to raise me. Geeze. She just sounds better and better the more I talk about her, doesn't she?
Anyway, I was born(miraculously alive) seven days later. Mom named me a rather pretty name, considering the circumstances. Daisy, Daisy Mudd. She didn't even hold me once that day. The only thing she cradled was her new fortunes, probably not even glancing up as a man in a black duster swooped in and took Little Me away. They drove miles and miles from New York, days and days away from the bright city lights, never stopping except for gas and pee breaks. Eventually we ended up in a little town smack dab in The-Middle-of-Nowhere-Wyoming. There, about 50 miles from the nearest town, was this ancient brown brick building. It was very grade school-esque and even had a little playground in the back.
The inside was huger than it looked, with 30 rooms covered in fluffy carpets and bright wallpapers, each filled with a new toy or game. I remember, because of my weird expanded mutant memory, growing up very privileged and loved. I was never without a playmate or a new toy, and my favorite foods were cooked every night. All the clothes, ribbons, hair bands, toys, or music that I could ever want were supplied. The man who took me from the hospital, who told me to call him Uncle Franky, basically raised me. He taught me how to fly a kite, how to play all sorts of instruments, how to tie my shoes, home schooled me, the like. The only things he expected in return were a vial of my blood every morning and every night, and for me undergo extensive physical training. I thought I'd gotten a pretty decent hand in life.
Until I turned thirteen. That's when it all changed.
I woke up on my birthday with a really weird headache, intense stomach cramps, and a fizzy, sparking purple mass encasing my left hand. I tried to dispel it; shook my fingers, blew, covered it in covers. That only managed to make it feel weird, like trying to move your leg too soon after it fell asleep.
So I did what I always did when I couldn't fix something on my own, spoiled little brat-mutant I was. I screamed for my Uncle Frankie. He was thundering into my room after 20 seconds flat, wired glasses askew and olden-style duster badly in need of some ironing. He'd probably been woken up by my shrieking.
"What?! What is it?! Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? Concussion? Oooooh no!" He fretted, checking me over thoroughly. It always kind of bothered me when he did that, scanning me as if I were a rare and valuable specimen, not his adoptive daughter. His eyes widened when he saw the purple mass.
"Please, help me! I don't know what to do!" And, snivelly little coward I was, I started sobbing and jumped into my Uncle's arms. I think, out of all the horrible and detestable deeds I've ever done, that's the one I regret most.
The second my skin came in contact with his, Uncle Frankie's lanky body stiffened and started convulsing. Frothy green foam ran like a faucet from his nose, mouth, and ears, soaking both of us. He went limp. I started sobbing harder, trying to hold him up, but eventually my arms gave out and he fell to the hard floor, his head thudding wetly. I watched in horror as he began having an intense seizure, not knowing what to do or how to help. But then, as quickly as it came, everything stopped. The shaking, the frothing, the limpness. His eyes filled with childlike wonder. He lifted his palm, ever so gently, and a dancing green flame about the size of my forearm appeared above it.
Uncle Frankie sat up and smiled the scariest smile I'd ever seen.
That was the day I discovered his actual reason for stealing me away from my mom. He knew that I had the ability to gift anyone with a superpower. And he wanted that power under his control. It was also the day I started my period. Needless to say, that week sucked.
At first, the only things I could do were to give someone the power they were naturally inclined to have, and then take it away if I chose. Then, after about a year of practice, I could give a person any power I wanted then to have. Uncle Frankie had me practice on about ten of his 'cousins', these huge, beefy young guys who looked better prepared for the Marines than domestics. They all ended up with a weird array of powers, or dead from the transformation. Frankie had me practice everyday, gifting and taking away, gifting and taking away, not stopping until I physically had to. But Uncle never let me touch him again. Then I just thought he had something contagious that he didn't want to spread. Now I know. He didn't want me to take his power away. He loved being strong and imposing. He was addicted to it.
The bad stuff really started happening after I'd perfected my gift.
Instead of taking my blood every morning and night like normal, Uncle Frankie would inject me with this thick, viscous pink liquid. It looked like Pepto Bismol's steroid junkie older brother. It made me throw up and painfully inched itself through my veins, slowly invading my body, and, like that cheesy venom from Twilight, it was the worst pain I'd ever felt. But I let him put it in me. Because I was stupid and naïve. He was my uncle and he loved me, he would never do anything wrong. He wouldn't hurt me. Right.
I was stupid. Because Uncle Frankie wasn't the dorky-adorable middle aged dude with a knack for puzzles and cheesy jokes. He wasn't the man he led me to love. He was a crazed scientist by the name of Dr. Franken Wilfred Staine, wanted by five different nations for illegal human experimentation, torture of animals and humans, and mass murder. He ran a human experimentation practice code named The Penitentiary. Catchy, isn't it?
Dr. Franken had developed the stuff he shot into my bloodstream. It was a serum that only worked on mutants with naturally given powers, and forced upon you the horrible power to control minds. Because the doctor didn't just want to experiment, no that would be too easy. He wanted to be extremely cliché and take over the whole world. How would he do that, you ask? He'd jack up a mutant harboring power-gifting powers with mind control meds, and force her to create an army of super-powered burly dudes, completely slaves to her will, then make her sick them on the world.
And, at first, I agreed. Because I loved him. And I thought he loved me back.
He wanted me to test my new power on the inhabitants of a small town near our home, quaintly called Gregorville. It was a pretty little town, with one diner, two churches, one store, and a library that tripled as a courthouse and a school. It had a population of 50, maximum. A third of that was kids. I told you I've done many detestable deeds? This is an extremely close second to gifting the Doctor fire powers. This is where it all went wrong.
Thus far, I had managed to control minds individually and in small groups, maybe 15 or 16 at a time. But I wasn't progressing fast enough. The Doctor wanted me to mature faster, wanted absolute control quicker. So I was sent into town with nothing but my clothes and a bo-staff. Mission: Make every citizen of Gregorville slaves to my will.
I stood in the town's center while everyone was fast asleep, feet planted firmly in the ground, hands clutched tightly to my head. My mind control power works as an invisible wave, it comes out in pulses and spreads to whatever region I wish. But it requires ultimate concentration, lest the wave spread further or stronger than anticipated. So I sent it out upon the unsuspecting residents of Gregorville. The residents who didn't know that they wouldn't wake up that morning, or ever again.
I wasn't ready for the strain of controlling 50 minds. The second I honed in on the last snoozing child, the wave exploded. At first, the only thing I could feel was a fire in my brain and blood pouring from my nose. The next all I heard were agonized screams as everyone's brains liquified, pouring out every opening in their head. Some were so crazed in pain that they started running about, squirting brain-gore all over the nicely trimmed grass and pretty sidewalks. All over the cute little houses. All over me.
My illusions of love from the Doctor shattered, along with any notions of power and control.
I murdered 50 innocent people. 20 kids. 25 adults. 5 elderly. I counted each lifeless body.
I couldn't go back to the insane Doctor Staine, or his rooms full of toys, or his delicious food, or his injections, or his cheesy jokes. I couldn't live a lie anymore.
So I did the only thing I could think to do. I ran.
And they ran after me. I created many different gadgets and gizmos in attempt to deter them; the most prominent of them all being MAISSIE. She would warn me every time he was near, giving me just enough time to run. I thought I'd lost them three years ago, when I'd deleted all traces of my previous existence and became Hayden Penn. But I was wrong. Because Doctor Staine had finally found me, and he wasn't going to let me escape unscathed this time.
"Hey, you okay?" I blinked owlishly at Steve and Sam, honestly having forgot about them during my internal drama. I grabbed each of their sleeves.
"Look, you have no idea how sorry I am that you've been dragged near all this. I know I'm a stranger that you can't trust, but listen to me right now. If you know what's good for you, your families, and your friends, you'll run. Run like hell. Run right now! And don't stop until you're someplace safe. Forget about me. You never saw me. Hayden Penn doesn't exist. Now GO!" I used all my strength to shove them away, not even stopping to look at them before I grabbed Mav's leash and bolted.
"Has he caught my trail yet?" I asked MAISSIE, who had wireless connection to my earbuds.
"Dr. Staine is still in the airport, but will soon breach the streets." My body screamed in protest at being pushed into running again, but I ignored it. My brain was too busy sorting through escape plans and battle strategies.
"Did he bring any Hitsticks this time?" After I'd left, nearly twenty-five of the bulky dudes I'd gifted still lived and stayed loyal to Doctor Staine, slaves to his will. I thought since the good doctor wanted to name his weird practice The Penitentiary, I'd name his minions after prison guard batons.
"I detect five other mutants within a 200 yard radius of Doctor Franken Wilfred Staine."
"Details, MAISSIE, details!" I screeched to a halt at my apartment's door, fumbling for the keys.
"All are male, each gifted with a power by you. Ivan Hessly is 35 and possesses telekinetic abilities. Aaron Derrick is 42 and possesses an extremely enhanced sense of smell. Bo Hellman is 28 and possesses superhuman strength. Kale Casper is 32 and possesses venom glands within his hands and mouth that, once ejected upon the skin, causes slow and painful death. Queens Greene is 25 and possesses superhuman speed." I finally managed to find the right key.
"Shit. Where are they moving to?"
"They progress in the direction of your apartment, ma'am."
"I was afraid you'd say that. Why did I even ask?" I locked the door behind me and jumped over piles of computer parts, keyboards, motherboards, and stray wires to reach my cramped bedroom. The whole flat was a small minefield of tech junk, but my room looked like Steve Jobs vomited all over it. I had to shove flash drives and memory chips out of the way to reach my clothes in the dresser, and my bathroom had invention plans and blueprints covering the counters and grubby tiles. I grabbed what was most important and shoved it in my emergency backpack. Not surprisingly, most of the essentials were computer parts.
I hurriedly pulled off my flimsy jogging clothes, trading them for something I promised myself I'd never wear again. In a dusty old box, shoved deep, deep under a pile of CD cases where I could never accidentally stumble across it and ruin my day, was my old mission suit. I only wore it once. The black leather was still tough and not shaped to my skin, the boots had unscuffed toes and still-squeaky soles, and the black cowl the hid my face from prying eyes had no stray threads. The only thing that showed it had ever even left the store(if it was bought at a store; you can never tell with my bat-shit ex-father) was the blood stain on the off-white belt, never fading even after what seemed like a thousand washes.
Usually when Staine rears his ugly head I just grab my crap and run. But now he's in a city chuck-full of civilians, packing five of my most talented Hitsticks and who knows what else. He means business this time, and I won't be unprepared. The leather is cool and yielding as it slips over my skin, fitting with a sinister familiarity. I shove out the memories that suddenly course through my brain, diverting all my attention into tying up the laces of my boots. It would not do to dwell on the past and become distracted; I needed all my concentration if I was to fight Dr. Franken without use of my powers. I ran out of my room, not daring to look in the mirror. I knew what I'd see. A little girl playing at being a superhero, dressed in a cheesy costume. The girl I used to be.
But I was different now. Or at least I liked to think so.
"Ma'am, might I inquire as to why you don such attire?" I roll my eyes and tie MAISSIE tightly to my backpack, along with HIDACEN. Human Injury Detector And Civilian Existence Notifier. He is a more recent invention, an AI like MAISSIE, but encased in an MP3 and created to detect the civilians and injured in an area, not mutants or Supers. One more perk: he can't talk! He only sends prerecorded messages of my voice into my earbuds! Score!
"I'm going to face the music, MAISSIE. Time to stop running away with my tail between my legs." That created a rather hilarious mental image.
"I take it your meaning is that you intend to fight Doctor Franken Wilfred Staine?"
"Boy, aren't you a smart cookie. Nothing gets past you."
"I advise against such an action. There is 75% probability of defeat, and that is should you use your powers." I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I think that she understands my sarcasm and just elects to ignore it. I shove Mav into a bulletproof vest(don't ask how I got it, that would be a whole other court case you'd have to witness in), unhooking his leash. It is really only for show; he's way too loyal to move from my side.
"You know, I don't think I remember asking your opinion."
"That is because you did not. I was created to-"
"Yeah, I know. Inform me of danger." I grumbled, walking out the door and locking it behind me.
"If that is the machine's job, your engineering skills have begun to fade." I dropped my keys and slowly turned on my heel, eyes wide. Not five feet in front of me, wearing the same old stained lab coat and thrice-taped glasses, was my greatest fear.
"Father." He smiled evilly.
"Hello, Daisy."