Operation: Threads of Connection

Regret

Damian's POV:

My head was pounding, my eyes fluttered open, the blurriness slowly receding as my surroundings came into focus. I was lying on a cold, hard floor, the scent of damp stone filling my nostrils. As I pushed myself up, wincing at the pain radiating through my skull, I took in the dimly lit room around me.

It was some kind of cellar, the walls lined with shelves of old, dusty bottles. The only light came from a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. I struggled to remember how I had ended up here, but my mind was a haze of fragmented memories and disjointed images.

I glanced down at myself, noting the torn, blood-stained clothes I was wearing. Panic surged through me as I realized I had no idea how I got these injuries, my body ached- I slowly began lifting my shirt, noticing an abundance of bruises on my stomach. Faint memories began flashing, I was being punched at for what seemed hours, before my world turned black...I needed to get out of here.

Slowly, I got to my feet, my legs trembling under my weight. The room seemed to spin for a moment before I steadied myself against one of the shelves. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, and then began to explore my surroundings.

There was a wooden door at the far end of the room, slightly ajar. I made my way towards it, every step echoing in the silence. As I reached out to push it open, a creak sounded from behind me. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

A figure emerged from the shadows, a tall man with a grim expression. His eyes bore into mine, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Good. We need to talk."

"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady. "What is this place?"

"All in good time," he replied, taking a step closer. "But first, you need to remember. Think, Damian. What was the last thing you recall?"

I closed my eyes searching my mind for any shred of memory. I was at the library tutoring, I had gotten off the phone with Anya... then a black hooded individual appeared....

"...Alina," I managed to choke out. Fuck, what the hell is her problem. She better not try and hurt Anya. The man nodded, looking weary.

"Alina Carter, the granddaughter of those monsters..." the man mumbled, slowly standing up. With his every move, I could hear heavy metal scraping through the concrete floor and walls. Was he chained up?

"Who are you?" I ask softly, why was he here as well and how did he know Alina.

The man began coughing, the dry coughs echoed through the empty room, he stepped further into the light. He looked weak, his clothes tattered and his face gaunt. The chains that bound him clinked with each movement, confirming my suspicion.

"I'm... nobody now," he rasped, his voice strained and barely audible. "But once, I was known as Dr. Arthur Wetson," he said, smiling faintly at the reminiscing name.

I took a cautious step closer, trying to get a better look at him. His eyes, though tired and sunken, held a spark of defiance. "Why are you here?" I repeated, hoping for more than a cryptic response.

He laughed, a bitter sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Why am I here? Because I dared to stand against them. The Carters—they're not just monsters. They're... they're something far worse. They helped not only fund those unethical experiments on children, they stole them from their parents...."

I stood there dumbfounded, what was he talking about? Dr. Wetson must have noticed my confusion, he began making his way towards me, his face full of worry.