Cybil (2018) #projectsuper

Chapter 13: Story of a King

James watched Cybil closely as she rematerialized at the teleporter lab. Her expression would have seemed blank to the outsider, but he had begun to pick up on little nuances, such as her tendency to straighten out her hair after a mission. Unfortunately for him, she didn't seem interested in any sort of small talk, and he wasn't about to try to force it.

"Welcome back, Cybil," he called from his intercom, situated in his barracks.

Within minutes, she appeared in front of his door, a floor up from the teleporters.  Much as she tried to remain inexpressive, a biting of her lip upon seeing him gave her away as nervous.

A cauldron of mixed emotions bubbled inside of him. On one hand, he was terrified that more... unpleasant missions were on their way if he didn't get her out of here (that is, if Fuller stopped dragging his feet with whatever he was doing). He was excited, however, with the prospect that the real Cybil was breaking through. The fact literally brought a tear to his eye.

"Cybil."

She looked at him with an expression that was her attempt at indifference. He saw right through it.

He had to take his chance here. He had to ask the question again. He had to honor the promise he'd made.

"Are...are you ready to hear about them?"

Whenever he had asked this question in the past, she would have simply left the room abruptly. Here, she stayed put, tapping her foot as if waiting for something. Just like her mother...

...Or maybe years cooped up in this lab had done their job on his sanity.

Regardless, he started talking as if she had blurted out an affirmative "yes".

Several years ago...

News of Marcia's death was days old in his mind, and the news report about the "mysterious fire" that had hit just one house and nothing surrounding it. Just that house. The house that happened to be Marcia's dream home.

No coincidence, to be sure.

In a sick way, it was fitting for such a petty man to burn his employees' houses down when he doesn't get his way. Then again, he wasn't the only one locked in the iron grip of Lawrence Wester.

Using...rather ethically dubious methods, he'd obtained DNA to use as a base for creation of an artificial humanlike organism.

As Wester intended it to carry out infiltration missions and information gathering on any potential rivals, it had been patterned after a small African American boy, appearing about 7 years old. He wouldn't draw much attention with that appearance, James had thought. He also imbued him with psychic powers, such as mind reading, to help him.

That's when he'd hit a snag. A serious one. The body didn't have a proper human form. Rather it was a blob of material that could be molded into a human shape and perform human functions.

With his deadline from Wester fast approaching, he scrambled for a solution. He found one by quickly crafting a machine designed to keep him molded into his proper form.

He'd joked to himself that it kind of looked like a crown, and the boy, like a "little king", as he had written in his notes. That was when he thought up a name. Much like his last foray into sentient life (which he loathed to talk about to that point and would forever), he gave him an appropriate name. Tyrone, or Ty, for short.

Having heard horror stories about what became of Wester's "agents", he looked for a way to get the boy as far away from the situation as possible.

Fuller, whom he'd known only for a few weeks at that point, had given him an unprecedented offer: total freedom for the boy at no cost to him. While leery of the man's intent, he found eventually that it was better than the horrid alternative.

Fuller supposedly "put the boy up for adoption", but James wouldn't see him again after he handed him off to him...