Slowly, I groaned my way back to consciousness, only to be met by a sharp sting of pain shooting through my body. Ouch. Seriously, can't catch a fucking break.
I cracked my eyes open, and the first thing that greeted me was the icy touch of metal on my back. Lovely.
I tried to shift my weight, but the restraints dug into my bones, and I could feel my hair clinging damply to the sides of my head. Someone apparently thought it was a good idea to give me an impromptu shampoo session while I was out cold.
With a groggy huff, I managed to lift my head, only to see that I was clad in a strange white lab gear. It wasn't just my hair they tampered with; they dressed me up like some doll in their demented experiment.
A surge of anger and violation rose within me. Some nerve they had. What other messed-up things did they pull on me while I was knocked out? Just the thought was enough to make my blood simmer. I felt so damn powerless. It was ironic, really—I actually missed my freakish strength for once. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to rip these restraints apart and wreck this entire lab. A day didn't pass without me cursing it, without wanting to feel normal. But breaking the occasional door handle was nothing compared to this feeling. Who was I kidding, door handles were far from the only thing I had broken.
Mom… My eyes welled up and my throat clenched tight. How long had I been trapped in this soul-sucking hellhole? Time was playing games, slipping through my fingers. She must've been going out of her mind with worry. I could almost picture her waiting for me, coffee cup in hand, only to find out that I was just... gone. Would she think I'd run away on my own?
So many questions I wished I could ask her. The doctors actually believed I hailed from another planet, a creature not of this Earth. Explained a few things, I guessed. Lord knows I'd always felt like an outsider, like I didn't belong in this world. An alien in my own skin. An alien who killed his own father and left his mother scarred for life. The weight of that truth hit me hard. Something wet trickled down my cheek. Just great, those tears again, dammit.
My thoughts wandered to that towering behemoth. He had his own set of issues, just like me. He also had abnormal strength. Did he, too, screw up everything he touched? Did he also hurt the people he loved? Both of us were stuck here with these control collars, like a pair of wild beasts being tamed.
That brawl we had kept looping in my head. He punched me like a freight train, but it was like my body just laughed it off. And the guy had soaked up my hits like a champ. He seemed unbreakable, so I ditched my usual restraint. Probably helped that I felt weak as hell after wearing that collar for so long. Gotta admit, it was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. How many times had I wished I could deck someone who pushed me too far? But then I had to rein it in to avoid making them a permanent part of the wall.
And then there's the million-dollar question—how the heck did Mr. Mountain-Man know about what I did to my father? Did they brief him before the fight? Was it part of the plan to get me all worked up to see what I could do?
If anyone's got the blame pie, it's probably that shadowy military maestro behind the glass. The one I overheard talking to Jake about me on the phone. He dropped that line about deploying me, finding a way to control me. The mere thought of it filled me with dread. Visions of being turned into some mindless weapon flashed in my mind. I could already picture myself forced to do their dirty work. No obstacle too big. Nothing could stand in my way. The thought made me shudder. No way in hell. I was nobody's puppet.
The silence shattered with the creak of the door, and my heart leaped into my throat. I went for my face out of instinct, wanting to wipe off any sign I had been crying, but the restraints weren't having any of that. In walked Doctor Stirling. He'd always been the compassionate one, but deep down, I knew he was still one of my captors.
"Glad to see you're awake," he said, his words tinged with genuine concern. His eyes darted to the tear tracks on my cheeks, but he didn't acknowledge them. He approached my bed, adjusting the sheets with a gentle touch. With a reassuring smile, he unlocked the wheels and started maneuvering me through the endless corridors of this grim facility. My surroundings blurred together, my limited perspective offering only glimpses of the world whizzing by.
"Can you at least tell me where we're headed? This is getting old," I snapped.
"Worry not, my lad" Stirling replied, his voice wafting over from behind me. "Patience is a virtue. All in due time."
"I will sue you. All of you." I shot back through gritted teeth.
He chuckled. "I'm sure you'll hire the best," he fired back, all cool and composed.
"You'll be lucky if that's all I do," I muttered under my breath.
At last, we reached a towering door. Stirling swiped a card, and it swung open with a metallic groan. A cold gust of air greeted us, carrying a scent that took me back to those visits to Gotham's Zoo with Mom.
Rows of training dummies lined one side, like an eerie congregation of silent, lifeless sentinels. Strategically positioned obstacles and barriers punctuated the expanse. Holocharts flickered to life, casting luminous displays of battle formations, tactical maneuvers, and strategy overviews. The room practically screamed military training boot camp.
And there he stood, the man I'd come to despise, stationed at a control center beneath a sprawling observation deck. His haughty expression twisted my gut with anger. I bet he strutted around like he owned the damn world, barking orders, all puffed up with his military regalia. As if badges and ribbons made him invincible. If only he knew how ready I was to give him a run for his money.
But my attention was momentarily diverted as I noticed a small, distressed creature beside him. A young... gorilla? Its eyes brimmed with pain. The heart-wrenching cries that escaped its throat pierced through the chamber.
Chains and a collar, akin to the ones that bound me, held the gorilla captive. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. These monsters weren't content with playing mad scientists on people; they'd extended their cruelty to innocent animals as well. My internal rage meter hit a solid ten.
As Stirling handed him a remote, the soldier's steely gaze met mine. I shot him a seething glare, wishing I could wipe that smug smile off his face. But before I could give him a piece of my mind, a jolt of pain surged through my body, the collar tightening its grip on my neck. I gritted my teeth, suppressing the cry that threatened to escape.
"Going to show you how to respect your superiors," the man taunted, looking down upon me.
I bit down hard on the inside of my lower lip, teeth clenched in a futile attempt to stifle the pain.
My focus shifted to the young gorilla beside the man. Its eyes darted around. It was clearly scared and confused. The poor thing must've fallen victim to these creeps' experiments too. I couldn't help but wonder what they'd put it through.
The army man's name tag caught my eye. GEN LANE. Right now, he was more like Jerk Lane in my book.
Jerk Lane locked eyes with me, and I could feel his icy stare drilling into my soul.
"So, you finally decided to wake up," he hissed. The arrogance in his tone grated on my nerves. "That little scuffle with our friend Bane was quite a spectacle. You surprised me, I'll give you that."
I couldn't help but scoff, a bitter taste of defiance rising in my mouth. "Save... your praise for someone who gives a damn, Lane," I snapped back, the pain from the collar throbbing with each beat of my heart. "I didn't sign up... to be your pet project."
"Oh, but that's exactly what you are, my dear subject," he chimed in. "In time, you'll learn the true meaning of obedience."
Like I was gonna roll over and play dead for him. Fat chance. "You think you can… control me?" I challenged, wincing despite my best attempts to keep a straight face. "Good luck with that."
General Lane's steely demeanor remained unbroken, his face an icy mask as if he were eternally sculpted from stone. "Luck has nothing to do with it," he retorted. "I assure you, Grodd's psychic abilities will shatter any illusions of resistance," he stroked the gorilla's head, like that was supposed to make me shake in my boots. "Once he infiltrates your mind, you'll dance to my every command."
I couldn't help but scowl at the absurdity of it all. A psychic gorilla? Seriously? This was getting too ridiculous.
"I won't be your plaything," I asserted, not backing down an inch.
His irritation flared up at my defiance, but he quickly masked it with a cold gaze. "We shall see," he grumbled. "Grodd, initiate the psychic link."
Before I knew it, there was a strange presence in my head, invading my thoughts and emotions. It was like a foreign entity had taken residence inside my mind, and I was no longer in the driver's seat.
"Stirling, you might want to take notes," Lane said to the good doc, who seemed to have blended into the background. I almost forgot the gray-haired scientist was still here beside me.
The pain in my neck eased slightly, and a spark of strength returned to my limbs. With a loud clank, the metallic restraints on my wrists and ankles released, freeing me from the confining metal table.
"You will learn, subject, that I hold all the power here," Lane sneered, his tone more chilling than the sterile air in the chamber. "Now, let's see how you handle close combat," he continued, gesturing towards the row of training dummies.
I'd rather not, but this gorilla got my brain on lockdown.
I felt my muscles tense in protest, resisting the urge to comply. But it was useless. Grodd's influence was like an iron grip on my mind, forcing my body to move against my will. How the heck was this possible? I reluctantly approached the training dummies, each step feeling heavier than the last. It was like I was a passenger in my own body.
Standing before the first dummy, frustration and helplessness bubbled up. I balled my hand into a fist, my power begging to break free. But it wasn't mine to command. With a swift and forceful punch, I struck the metal dummy, watching in horror as it shattered into pieces. The clang of metal meeting metal echoed through the chamber, an explosive collision that sent shockwaves up my arm. I stood there, stunned and disgusted, gawking at the dummy's remains. This wasn't me, but it was my body doing the damage, and it sickened me to the core.
"Excellent," he smirked. "You're a natural." Lane's arrogant voice came from behind me.
I gritted my teeth. Internally, I was in a full-blown tug of war, battling the unseen chains of control. It was like trying to break free from an invisible prison, but Grodd's influence was relentless.
I shuffled forward, each step feeling like dragging through quicksand. Dummy Two loomed in front of me. A solid wooden board roughly sculpted to resemble a figure raising its hand. With a mental growl, I tried to push against that intrusive presence in my head as if I could force it out. Yeah, that didn't pan out. I swung, my knuckles connecting with the wooden façade. The impact was a thunderous CRACK. The dummy exploded in a shower of splinters, my fist plowing through with unstoppable force. Debris rained down around me, a testament to Lane's craving for destruction. I could almost feel his eagerness to break something – or someone.
Now, the third dummy – it had an uncanny resemblance to an actual person, rendered in rubber and metal. Almost too realistic. Nausea churned in my stomach. My fist met its rubbery jaw, and the bolts anchoring it to the platform shrieked in protest, caving under the pressure. It flew and smashed into the wall with a sickening thud. It collapsed, a jumble of limbs and shattered fragments. My eyes widened in horror. They were not seriously planning to make me do this against real people, right? Right!? Get the fuck out of my head! I mentally yelled, hoping to somehow shake off the unwanted presence. But it didn't budge. Lane's twisted awe wormed its way into my feelings, taking over my own emotions.
And so, it went on – this odd dance of aggression, my body a weapon. The general seemed to let loose, and I moved from one dummy to another, my feet almost a blur of movement. The echoes of impacts and shattering pieces seemed unending, a nightmarish cacophony of breaking and fracturing. With every hit I landed, every piece I sent flying, I could sense Lane's sinister fascination, his longing to exploit my untamed power.
I swung a hit that could've cracked open a fortified safe. At this point Lane wasn't just watching, he was living it, his dark emotions coursing through me like an electrical charge. Was this arousal he felt? I had to swallow down my disgust. No longer just a puppet, I was his outlet, a vessel of perverse satisfaction.
"Now, let's move on to something more entertaining. How about some target practice?" he commanded, gesturing towards the firearms neatly displayed on the table.
I reluctantly shifted my gaze towards the weapons. My hands betrayed my internal battle, trembling slightly as I picked up a sleek black pistol. Guns weren't exactly my area of expertise, but it was like my eidetic memory was pulling fragments from every action movie I'd ever seen.
"Show me up what you've got," Lane ordered, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Inside, I was screaming, trying to grab the wheel back from the mind-control monster. I lined up the shot. My finger rested on the trigger, and for a brief moment, I almost felt like I was taking back the reins.
But it was hopeless. I was just a passenger on a runaway train, unable to hit the brakes, watching as my finger applied pressure to the trigger. The shot rang out, and I hit the target dead center.
I could feel my mind's resistance pounding against the walls of Grodd's influence, but my body betrayed me. The next shot hit the bullseye just as perfectly. I swallowed hard, a lump of dread forming in my throat. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't make me do this. They couldn't.
"Remarkable," Lane commended, surprise evident in his voice. "You're quite the sharpshooter."
My frustration boiled over. I didn't want to be praised by this maniac. I didn't want to be his puppet. But right now, I didn't have a choice. On the third shot, my finger pulled the trigger all the way, and the handgun disintegrated in my grip, shards of metal clattering to the floor.
The expression on Lane's face shifted from anticipation to sheer incredulity.
"He's ready," he declared.
The military plane rumbled on, carving a path through the vast expanse of sky. A nagging throb pulsed beneath my skin, the collar around my neck tight like a vise. They were kind enough to have dialed it down to a level where I could at least breathe without too much discomfort. I let my head rest against the cold window, watching the clouds drift by. I knew that if I wanted to escape, I had to make a move, and soon.
The General's training sessions replayed in my head. It had been a merry-go-round of repetitive drills. Every formation, every code was practiced until it was etched into our muscles. My own memorization was rendered moot, just an echo of Grodd's directives dictating my every move.
A damn mind control gorilla. I still couldn't wrap my head around that one. But then again, here I was, with more power anyone should have. Living proof that reality had some wild, unexplainable surprises in store. This mind control trick was probably how they managed to harness Bane's brute strength. No way a guy like him just cooperated willingly. And he certainly wasn't the type to regurgitate lines from my file like a well-trained parrot.
And now, this was it—a real mission on the ground. They hadn't even bothered to brief me on what to expect. I shuddered at the thought of what they'd make me do with their remote control over my brain. But given our training sessions, I could guess. Break in, clear the space for the team, play backup for potential threats. All the nitty-gritty of a high-stakes operation. Just another day in the life of a living weapon.
I was surrounded by a bunch of soldiers who seemed to be having the time of their lives. None of them were handcuffed like me. Lucky them. Every one of those guys had a remote clipped to their belts, ready to zap me if I twitched wrong. But that was meant to be a last resort. Only Lane had the ultimate power over my agony. I leaned back, glaring at Mr. Big Shot, stationed at the back of the plane. His eyes met mine, all stern and serious. Dude, chill. It's not like I'm planning a mid-air escape. Or am I?
If I wanted to break free, I had to find a way to get rid of this damn collar. As long as I was stuck with it, escaping was pointless. They'd zap me into submission before I could even take a step.
I shifted in my seat, deep in thought. They usually turned the collar's intensity down during training. They'd want me at full strength for whatever hellhole we were dropping into. That'd be my best shot. But first, I had to snap Grodd's leash on my mind. Easier said than done. Every time he'd hijacked my brain during training, I'd tried to wrestle back control. Let's just say, it wasn't a fair fight.
I chewed on some ideas. Maybe I could force one of these soldiers to shoot this accursed thing off me. Once I'd be at full power, I could spin some pretty persuasive scenarios. But these guys were like brainwashed clones. They would probably drop dead before lifting a finger to help me escape.
Plan B then. Explosives. A blast that'd fry the collar into oblivion. Could I survive it? Bullets may not pierce my skin, but an explosion? That was another ball game entirely. Worst case, it'd end my misery. Worth a shot. And if it came down to it, I could always dive under a tank's massive wheel. Tank vs. collar. My money's on the tank. Just thinking about wedging my neck under that monstrous thing sent a shiver down my spine, but when your back's against the wall, you embrace the crazy. I tilted my head back, letting it rest against the plane's cold surface.
A sharp kick to my boot pulled me from my thoughts. Soldiers. They were yammering, chuckling, basically having a grand old time at my expense. My gaze shifted towards them, a mask of indifference on my face.
"Hey new guy," the kicker, sporting a light brown buzz cut, called out, his helmet tucked under his arm. Like I needed this crap right now. I ignored him.
"Can you believe this is our backup?" a soldier sporting a scruffy beard drawled, his words dripping like molasses, a testament to his Southern roots. He nodded toward Buzz Cut. "He's what, barely a few days in?"
"Seen him during training?" another chimed in, his keen blue eyes sweeping over me. "Guy doesn't miss a shot."
"Forget guns. He could flatten a building barehanded," a sergeant sitting across from me added, respect in his eyes. "Saw him rip apart a dummy, just like that." He demonstrated with a dramatic tearing motion.
I clenched my jaw, meeting their stares head-on. These soldiers, they held a piece of my truth, a vulnerability I couldn't afford to ignore.
Buzz Cut tapped his temple, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "He's an empty shell. Guy's not even steering the ship up there." My glare shot daggers, their swagger faltering for a beat.
"Easy now," he smirked, brushing his fingers against the remote on his belt.
Decision made. If I had the chance, Buzz Cut was my guy, I'd show him just how unnerving I could be. He'd be the one to obliterate this infernal necklace for me.
"Hey, this ain't your everyday rookie, Spec," the sergeant offered with a knowing nod, "I'd think twice before riling that one." His gaze held mine, his solid presence taking up a good chunk of the seat.
The weight of all their eyes on me was suffocating. They knew I was different, knew my secret. The soldiers didn't know my name, but they knew I was an abomination. The camouflage paint and the helmet could hide my face, but they couldn't cloak the truth. Stirling, Langley, and Jerk Lane—all of them held a piece of me.
Even if I managed to escape, what then? Could I ever truly shake these guys off my tail? Langley made it sound like they were in the dark about my address, but let's be real—can a department named Investigations truly be that clueless? Would they honor "the informant's request" to keep our address confidential if I slipped through their fingers? It's right there in the name, their job is to dig.
Speaking of Investigations, it's kinda odd how the scientists, even the ever-so-authoritative general, never mentioned my name. Lad, boy, kid, subject—the labels they gave me, each one a new layer of dehumanization. It's almost like they were trying not to get attached. After all, it's easier to dissect a subject than a person. But then again, could it be that they were genuinely unaware? Why would Jake have kept that information from them?
Then it hit me, to protect Mom.
