Stepping down from the plane's ramp, my boots sank into the warm sand. The sunlight slammed into my eyes, momentarily blinding me. Yet, I welcomed the sting—it was a change of scenery I'd been craving after days of being cooped up.
The Southern soldier and Buzz Cut were my designated chaperones. They flanked me on each side, hands braced on their guns. Buzz Cut had my bicep in an iron fist, as if trying to assert dominance.
I inhaled sharply, sucking in hot, stale air. It hung thick and steamy, like the inside of a volcano. Beads of sweat instantly formed on my forehead, and I fought the urge to wipe them away. That was something at least. I don't usually sweat.
Then, I felt it. Energy, seeping through my pores. Each sunbeam seemed to breathe life back into my body. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation.
Being outside always had this oddly therapeutic effect on me, especially on scorching summer days. I used to brush it off as some airy-fairy, feel-good thing. Now, after everything I'd been through, I couldn't deny it. It was as if my body were a solar battery, running on pure sunlight. This wasn't normal. Normal humans got sunburns.
The white coats never saw this coming when they calibrated that collar around my neck. They had dialed it down to keep me at the level of a weakened human, but they forgot I wasn't human. I could take down Buzz Cut and his buddy with one hand tied behind my back.
But I had to play it smart, save my big move for the right moment. After all, as long as the collar was on, they still held the power to zap me into submission.
A cluster of makeshift structures lay ahead, standing against the endless sea of sand. The camp bustled with activity. Soldiers in beige gear moved purposefully. Two of them, stationed in front of a tent, meticulously loaded ammunition into their rifles. In a corner, a group studied a large map spread across a wooden crate, fingers tracing invisible battle lines.
We strolled through the camp. Walking felt damn good. It was a step up from being strapped to a table and psychically yanked around. We passed an injured soldier, his face contorted in pain. His uniform was muddied and torn. A medic, her face tense with concentration, worked urgently to stabilize him. This was no ordinary scrape or bruise. It looked serious, like real life-or-death serious. My stomach twisted into a knot. This was a far cry from our training simulations. I wondered which country was getting a dose of democracy today.
We reached an open air cell, surrounded by coils of barbed wire. Buzz Cut threw me in there. I hit my head against the fence and tumbled to the ground, choking on sand. My eyes burned with defiance. This guy was lucky. The sun's boost fell short of turning me into a walking flamethrower.
"Some alien you are," he jeered, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling me upright. "Parents took one look at you and were so repulsed they threw you away." He kicked me in the groin and I keeled over. I kissed the sand and tasted piss. Jackass.
The gate clanged shut behind me, leaving me caged in. A small mercy. I took in the grid walls and the cot that looked about as comfortable as a slab of concrete. Home sweet, home.
I braced myself against the metal grid, and jerked away. The sun had turned the metal into a skillet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The sunrays on my skin felt like heaven.
"Subject."
The baritone voice cut through the silence. I opened my eyes and saw Jerk Lane standing on the other side of the gate. It would be so easy to wrap this wiry gate around him and toss him into oblivion.
"General," I drawled out. I shot him a sidelong glance before absently flicking the sand off my boots. The chains rattled as I moved.
He motioned for the soldiers to step back, leaving just us.
"We've got an op ahead, Subject," he said, his voice like ice.
"I figured as much." I replied. "Here to remind me of my starring role?"
"You catch on fast," he responded, barely moving a muscle.
"Not like I have much else to do in this cozy cell," I crossed my arms over my knees, and huffed into them. "Let me go," I grumbled, my plea muffled from the fabric. "I have a family."
"A family that doesn't care what happens to you," he observed. "They couldn't wait to be rid of you," he cackled. "Face it, I'm the only family you've got."
I tried for a different approach. "Family doesn't lock each other up or force them to commit crimes," I pointed out. I sat up straighter and met his gaze head on. "This is me asking nicely. You don't want me as an enemy General. Release me."
And maybe I won't turn your whole damn camp into a bonfire. The thought wormed its way in, uninvited. I let out a long breath. Never thought I'd contemplate willingly using those demon beams. Funny how captivity could drag out the shadows you hate the most.
But as much as I fantasized about a blaze of glory, I had to lay low. Plus, I wasn't thrilled about having 'World's Most Dangerous Threat' engraved on my tombstone.
"And lose my prized soldier? I don't think so." Lane's voice sharpened. "Don't underestimate the significance of your role."
"Oh, I don't. I just don't care." I flicked some grain of sand off my arm.
Lane took a measured step closer, his face almost pressed against the cell's grid. "You should care. The lives of your comrades are on the line."
I chuckled dryly. "Your comrades' lives are on the line," I corrected him. "Not mine. If I had my way you'd all burn in Hell." I closed the gap between us, our faces almost touching through the grid. "And trust me, you will, Lane." I stared down at him. "It's just a matter of time."
His fists tightened for a moment, anger burning in his eyes. "You'll learn respect–" he began sharply before catching himself, pressing his lips into a thin line. "You have power, Subject. I suggest you think before you act."
"Act?" I chortled. "I haven't done anything. Don't tell me the big bad General is afraid of a few inconsequential words." I smirked.
His eyes narrowed into slits. "This isn't a game. Lives are at stake."
I leaned even closer, my fingers curling around the grid. "And whose lives are those, General?" I asked.""Yours? Or maybe those brainless soldiers you like to send on your field trips? I jeered, relishing in the knowledge I was getting under his skin. "Newsflash, it's your fault your men are in danger. You are a bad penny. Everybody close to you dies or leaves you." I said. "Your own daughter couldn't stand the sight of you and left," I added, taking a shot in the dark. I had overheard one of the guards talking about the General's spitfire daughter.
Lane's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Don't you dare speak of my family!"
His thumb jabbed at the remote's button. A jolt of green energy flared up my throat, the shock sending me to my knees. The world around me spun in a nauseating blur. But this time, nearly instantly, something surged in my core, silently restoring my strength. I kept my head low. I wasn't about to tell Lane the blazing sun had my back.
"That is your last warning alien. Step out of line again and I will kill you." he turned on his heel. I watched him retreat until he disappeared inside a tent.
I slumped back on the ground. My hands were still cuffed, making balance a challenge. I had learnt zilch. Still no clue about what they would make me do. All I knew was that it wouldn't involve practicing on metal dummies this time.
My heart sprinted a mile a minute. My head dropped back between my knees, eyes wide. Apprehension wasn't even close to describing the dread tightening my gut. My control was shaky at best, even after years of practice. Training taught me that any semblance of restraint flew out the window when Lane took the reins of my mind and body. I wasn't in control; he was, and he had no idea how to calibrate my strength.
The guns had crumbled in my hand and I'm pretty sure that wasn't his plan. Every drill involved excessive force. The hunks of metal had ripped from their platforms, smashed against walls. But they were just a rehearsal, and now, he aimed for the main event. Human bodies. Fuck! My handcuffed palms clamped around my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
I had to sever the link at all costs. The general was right—lives were at stake. Just not his precious pawns. Grodd's grip had to go. I had no clue if my power levels being stronger, from the desert sun, some cosmic alignment or god knew what fueled them, would be enough. As much as I hated the idea, I had to consider taking out Grodd himself. Or Lane. The latter seemed easier to stomach.
They dumped me unceremoniously into the back of a grumbling military truck with all the grace of tossing out yesterday's trash. A twinge of satisfaction danced through the haze of pain as they struggled with my not-so-compact frame. Naturally, they hadn't forgotten to crank up the intensity on that pesky collar, just to keep things spicy.
We barreled over rough terrain and my stomach churned violently. I bounced around like a ragdoll on a joyride from hell. I shot a sidelong glance at Lane through the separating grate. But his face may as well have been a granite mask, giving nothing away.
"So, care to give me a hint about what we're walking into?" I tossed out, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Let's just say we're field-testing something that wasn't cut out for a lab environment," he deadpanned, cryptic as always. I swallowed back a sigh, the pit in my stomach deepening.
As we rumbled on, my brain started going a mile a minute. Grodd had to be nearby, maybe in that armored truck trailing us, or perhaps he stayed back at base camp. But could this psychic hotline stretch across these distances?
Suddenly, Lane tapped his earpiece. "Sergeant, tell our furry friend it's showtime." A muffled response crackled through his radio.
What followed was a sensation I'd grown familiar with during training. Gradually, Grodd's presence crept into my mind, linking it with the General's.
The ride jerked to a stop, and I smashed against the truck's interior, tasting metal on my lips. Before I could regain my bearings, the guy with the Southern drawl and Buzz Cut hauled me out with unnecessary roughness. My bound hands offered no resistance as they wrestled me onto the ground. Dust and sand slapped my face, prickling my skin. I set my jaw in a tight line, refusing to let these guards see how much their little game was getting to me. Be the bigger person, Ma always said. But damn, I was so ready to show them exactly what I was made of.
Lane's fingers brushed his belt, and the vice around my neck seemed to loosen. Strength pumped through my limbs, power humming in my veins. I closed my eyes for a fleeting second, savoring the sweet taste of freedom from that nagging pain.
The general's impassive gaze peered down at me, and for a second, I had the wild urge to rearrange that stony mug with my knuckles. But before I could act on my impulse, Lane's voice resonated in my head.
"Stay."
My teeth ground together. I'm not your fucking lapdog! I wanted to holler back, but it seemed my vocal cords were on vacation without my consent.
With my enhanced vision back, I finally took in our surroundings. Darkness receded, unveiling the desolate expanse around us.
My heart plummeted like a stone through water. There, in the distance, the canyon walls cast elongated shadows over what looked like a rebel camp illuminated by the moon's pale glow. Vehicles parked in haphazard rows, shadows moving in the darkness, and the glint of dangerous weapons.
This is what we were up against. The "little test run" Lane had hinted at.
Grodd's presence buzzed in my mind, a tag-along thought that felt like an uninvited houseguest. But it was different, not the usual Lane-channeling-Grodd experience. Grodd's own thoughts brushed mine—his uncertainty mirrored back at me. Odd. It was usually Lane's feelings I picked up, not Grodd's.
My gaze shifted to the truck parked next to ours. There, caged like a trapped ghost, was a skeletal creature gripping the bars. The image soon morphed into a clear picture of Grodd. They did need him up close and personal for the mental magic to work. Figures.
Wait a damn minute. I'd managed to fire up my x-ray vision on my own. Hope ignited in my chest like wildfire. This hadn't been possible when Lane took over my body as if he was piloting it during training. This meant unless Lane was actively giving an order, or I was executing it… I was in control of my actions? Was there a timer on his commands?
I knew one thing for sure: I had to stash this newfound knowledge until the perfect escape plan played out. Get rid of Grodd, ditch this collar, and run like hell…
The General's voice jerked me back to the present. "Your file says you can shoot fire from your eyes. True?" His tone was almost casual, like we were discussing the day's lunch options. "Saw your eyes blaze red when you faced off with Bane. Time to give us a little pyrotechnic show." My chest tightened, a queasy feeling creeping up. The one damn power I'd hoped he'd never make me use.
Fuck…no… I fought against it, forcing my eyes shut. My hands shot up to my head, the link binding my cuffs snapping apart with a metallic crack. A strained grunt slipped between my gritted teeth. But Grodd's invisible grip twisted my arm. Crimson heat exploded from my eyes disintegrating a small sandhill a hundred feet away. A collective gasp echoed around me. The soldiers gawked at me in a mixture of awe and terror. "You've got to be shitting me," Buzz Cut muttered. Meanwhile, the rebel camp in the distance erupted with shouts, their unfamiliar language piercing the night.
Lane's voice cut through the chaos. "Well, I guess that's one way to clear the field. Don't need that pebble-shooting rifle now, huh?" One last order rang in my ears.
"Clear out all assets, vehicles, and weaponry."
It was like a starter pistol at a twisted race of destruction. Dread coiled in my gut as I sped toward the camp.
Lane hadn't taken control of my body. No micromanagement of every move, he seemed content to be the puppeteer of my mind alone. Perhaps because he would not have the visibility to control each action, avoiding the frontline of danger. The responsibility of turning his directive into reality rested solely on my shoulders.
Suddenly I was there, on the ground, feeling the coarse sand under my fingers. The once-calm camp had morphed into a frenzy of movement, engines roaring and metal clanging. The cacophony of screams and panicked shouts intensified. It was like stepping into a nightmare.
Time slowed as I focused on the first target – a cluster of jeeps. With a scorching beam of heat, I carved through the metal vehicles like they were nothing more than foil. An eruption sent flames skyward, debris smoldering to nothing. The rebels scattered like ants, their panicked cries drowned out by the explosion.
My heart raced, not from exertion, but from the dread that had sunk its claws deep into my chest. Lane's influence urged me on, directing my attention to a weapons cache in a tent. A sweep of my gaze and a surge of heat vision obliterated guns, explosives, and ammo in fiery bursts. The concussive force of the explosions rocked the ground beneath me.
Rebels turned their guns on me, bullets streaking through the air like angry wasps. Most shots missed, and those that found their mark only pierced my uniform, ricocheting off my skin like sparks. Their faces twisted in disbelief as they emptied round after round in futile desperation.
A young man in a flowing white tunic charged at me. He was brandishing a long knife that almost resembled a saber, yelling something I couldn't understand.
Instinct took over as he lunged, his blade aimed at my heart. Grodd's influence compelled me to react. I blurred out of the way, my body sidestepping the blade's path. It sliced through the air just inches from my shoulder. Not that it would have done much damage if it hit me.
My fingers shot out on their own accord, snatching the rebel's forearm like a vice. The sickening sound of bones snapping under my grip echoed over the cries of battle. His eyes widened in shock, his face twisting from wild determination to sheer agony. I winced, dread clutching at my heart. This wasn't right.
STOP! I yelled internally. But my silent screams went unanswered. With an effortless heave, I pivoted and tossed the man aside. His body sailed through the air like a puppet with its strings cut. The world around me slowed as I watched his form collide with a stack of crates, the wood splintering on impact.
The man's body lay crumpled amidst the debris, unmoving. I wanted to reach out, to check for signs of life, but my limbs remained under Lane's command.
Bullets continued their futile assault like rocks against a windowpane. I grabbed their weapons, the metal warping and crumbling under my touch as I tore their guns apart one by one.
What were once defiant shouts had turned into desperate pleas, their angry cries transforming into something akin to prayers. As if bargaining for salvation from a vengeful god.
My attention shifted to a group of rebels scrambling for a heavy-duty truck. With a burst of speed, I closed the distance in an eyeblink. They never stood a chance. Their startled eyes widened as I materialized before them, their determined sprints faltering into a collective freeze.
My hand landed on the front bumper of their prized vehicle. The metal crumbled under my touch, giving way like soft butter. "Ya, ya, YAH!" One of them shouted, which sounded like an urgent plea, as I slowly lifted the vehicle from the ground.
With a casual flick, I sent the two-ton truck soaring into the air like a child's toy. It spun end over end before crashing down with an earth-shaking thud, a crumpled heap of metal and shattered glass.
Another group of men ran towards one of the few remaining jeeps. The engine turned on and the vehicle started to drive away. I couldn't let that happen. My heat vision locked onto the tires, the metal screeching as it warped and melted. The jeep lurched to a halt and its occupants stumbled out in confusion.
The camp was a warzone of fire and ruin, the air thick with acrid smoke.
As I stood amidst the devastation, my eyes landed on the hill were Lane and his soldiers stood. If I could blast Grodd's truck from here–
"Hhurrg!" A sharp grunt of pain tore from my lips and I collapsed to my knees. They had fucking zapped me. Again. Had Lane sensed my intentions? Heard my thoughts? Or they had just seen me turn towards them.
"Come back," the order came inside my head.
Stifling a growl of frustration, I complied. My steps were heavy as I trudged back up the hill, my shoulders slumped and my jaw clenched. Lane's face was a mask of calculated indifference, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
