In MI0's prison sector, a large building riddled with test subjects, failed experiments and terrifyingly excessive laser security, a monster craved apple juice of all things.
The boy rested his head against a thin mattress, blankly staring at a green fungi infested ceiling. Slaughter was appealing to him but even that did not compare to a glass of apple juice crafted to a perfect acid to water ratio.
Once upon a time, the boy knew himself as Blaine Johnson but now the name was an empty title, merely letters squashed together. Extreme trauma had led to amnesia. The words meant nothing to him. Coldblooded torture sessions had drained his willpower and once the powers arose, his identity cracked.
The incredible superpowers, huh?
The boy chuckled at his own misfortune. His low voice echoed around the prison cell. A regenerative healing factor was considered an aid in almost any situation but torture was not one of them. And Lila Volkov really was something special.
The boy smiled at a camera in the hopes that, by coincidence, she was watching him right now. He fantasized about her death every day. How many limbs had she severed only for them to grow back rapidly? Twenty-three, that's how many. It was impossible for him not to count.
It's weird when screaming until urination becomes a daily activity. The boy had been drilled, burned, frozen, poisoned, gouged—she'd taken out his eyes once which surprisingly wasn't that bad relatively speaking—electrocuted, beaten and mentally anguished until something inside him snapped.
Maybe it was the voice constantly whispering or maybe it had something to do with the "seizures" Volkov talked about but one delightful evening...
The boy began to laugh at his own torture. Pain receptors still detected a high stimulus but instead of an agonized scream, his responses had altered to a calm, natural laugh as if a humorous joke had been told.
She'd stopped torturing him ever since.
Which meant that now he had more free time! Great! Awesome! Amazing! Stupendous! Incredi—
The boy groaned, covering his face with two hands. Boredom was worse than being waterboarded. Okay, that was a lie. Waterboarding sucked.
Forming a circular Delirium shield with a hand, he began to walk around his prison cell. Armoured lasers shot out of every wall, trained at every vital organ.
Prolonged motion detected, a computerised voice said. Freeze for five minutes or punishment will be issued.
The boy snorted, raising a middle finger in the air with his free hand. "No."
The intense beams began their onslaught and the boy continuously flipped, twisted and shielded in the air. However, despite his astonishing agility, the lasers gradually picked apart his body.
Moments later, the charcoal-like smell of burned flesh filled the air. The boy huddled in a corner behind a shield as the lasers slowly melted through the invisible metal, unforgiving and unrelenting.
The boy chuckled while the sizzling shield sunk through his skin tissue like a knife cutting butter. Was that fifteen minutes? New record. Just before the shield crumbled away, the lasers retracted back into the walls and a hologram floated in the air.
"Hello, Mr Johnson," Lila Volkov said. "How is your health?"
The boy slowly stood up, snarling, his burns quickly healing. "Stop calling me that name. And I've missed our meetings. I need you here."
The woman simply smiled. That was all she needed to obliterate his lie. "I'll pass. It's no fun when you've passed your breaking point. Besides, we've finally found him."
The boy's heart flipped. "My older brother?"
"Yes," Lila Volkov said, stroking her chin. "That demon has already murdered but we'll hunt him down. Congratulations, Mr Johnson. You'll be spending your final months with a relative."
The hologram vanished.
After a while, the boy blinked back tears. Somewhere on this earth was someone who would be able to understand the agony of the murderous voice inside his head. There was someone who hallucinated at every turn and better yet, they'd already bloodied their hands.
He wondered if his older brother knew the truth.
Blaine Johnson? Mr Johnson? No, those words did not represent his true nature. That wasn't part of his identity anymore.
The boy placed a hand under his vest over a ghastly deep scar on his chest, the words engraved giving him solace. The forgotten memories of the past didn't matter anymore. He already knew who he was.
He was Monster.
Thoughts/first impressions on the villains?
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