Compared to the days prior to my stay at this facility, things have significantly relaxed. You just wouldn’t see that much in me. First off, I am still in the same place. I thought it was a hospital at first, but those “authorities” the doctor mentioned last time took their sweet time getting to me. I’m sure I left a big mess to clean up. When someone finally entered, it turned out to be Victor Mender. The crippled leader of Master Academy felt perfectly safe conversing with a prisoner despite only having the use of his eyes, a hand, and a wheelchair that could probably carve through a tank. How the mighty Gecko has fallen.
They gave me a whole ‘nother night, I assume. The lights turned out at one point and my “window” turned out to be some sort of video on a screen. Had trouble sleeping, too. The usual stuff. Explosions, violence, people trying to kill me. Pretty much the same thing I go through awake, only when I’m meant to be resting. I should have had my armor. Anyone could sneak up and get me in my sleep without it. I sleep better with it on. At least I didn’t have to struggle too far for the bathroom, though I thought people like me got bed pans?
Then again, what nurse would want to come and take crap off me, eh? They didn’t even deliver food, so it’s not like I had much to worry about from that end.
Then, as I mentioned, the head of Master Academy showed up and I started gathering the most important resource of all: Vespene Gas. I mean information. Information is often more important than any sword. Especially if you’re facing someone who has a sword and the information is where to find a cannon.
“So I’m at the Master Academy,” I said as soon as I saw him. I tried to keep my hand near the cuff still attached to the side of the bed. I’d given it the slip, but I couldn’t walk very easily. My injuries and surgeries enfeebled me. Then the damn door wouldn’t give. I don’t know what they got on that thing, but that’s no simple door. So I had to hobble my ass on back to bed and hide that I’d gotten my hand free.
“Correct. Please, don’t get up.” His computer’s monotone voice spoke without a hint of emotion. “You are in no shape to escape and would likely die in the attempt,” he fixed me with a look. I imagine he meant it to be some sort of stern parental or teacher thing, but the teachers I had growing up preferred feeding us to hungry dogs.
I tried to take a deep breath despite the incision on my chest. “I ain’t no proctologist, but I know I gotta get my ass outta here. Where am I, those rooms under the campus?”
“Yes. So if you do escape a room you can’t open the door to and walk up to ground level despite needing a wheelchair, you have to fight past the biggest collection of superhumans on the East Coast. Once you manage that, you need to find even one man or woman on Earth who would help you that is also qualified to treat you. The doctor tells me you have an infection and the flu. With all that and the sedative in your drip, you managed an impressive walk across the floor. Yes, we have surveillance in here.”
I looked around before settling on the window monitor and the little machine keeping track of my heartbeat.
“You won’t know where they are. You will find yourself much reduced in capability,” continued Victor. I whipped my head around at that, glaring at him. “I’m loathe to entertain the idea of removing anyone’s gift, but you left me no choice.”
“My ‘gift’ is a product of my birth. It’s in my genes. It’s my fucking species,” I growled.
“Yes,” he said.
I went on. “You changed my DNA. You don’t know how to do that. There aren’t many who would.”
…You gotta be fucking kidding me. “Technolutionary.”
Victor locked eyes with me. “Yes.”
I wanted to throw the bed and Victor both through the wall, but I stood up too fast and had to lean against the bed, on the opposite side of it than my captor. I ended up sliding down to the floor, trying to catch my breath. Raising his voice, Victor explained, “He said that the adjustments to your phenotype will stay in place, at least until new skin and hair takes its place. Some of us were curious what your really look like. Also, anything connected to you at the time of his treatment is still connected. That is why your eyes function. I believe it would hurt you to pull them out and your body would no longer be able to bond with them once disconnected.”
“You cut into my head!” I yelled at him, panting. “My chest!”
“I used information obtained from your gestalt double and an anonymous surgical team to disable your remaining advantages.” His chair hummed as he moved around the bed, but didn’t approach. “You have been a menace to the world for too long and I took the steps necessary to keep you contained. You are now the first resident of this prison. You won’t receive a trial, but you will never be free again. If you try to escape, you will find worse things than my students waiting for you. This is what you deserve.”
I looked over and found him looking down on me with a softer expression than I expected for that statement. Or maybe I’m just imagining things in the midst of my poor health. “You also deserve food. I will have them send down a meal. The doctor left and didn’t inform us of your awakening, and I must discipline students for doing nothing but watch you through the cameras.”
Ha. It’s ok to lock me up in some unknown prison outside the justice system, perform all sorts of nonconsensual surgeries on me, and work with a supervillain to fucking alter my fucking DNA to remove my fucking powers…but someone’s going to get in trouble because they didn’t feed me? “Ha!” I started, and soon I couldn’t stop. Laughter poured from me, and soon I wrapped my arms around my own upper body to make sure my chest wouldn’t burst, all the while my lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen.
I didn’t see whoever stopped to bring me a tray of food. It smelled fucking awesome. I contemplated not even eating. Ya know, just let myself waste away and force some sort of drastic measures. I mean, the gravy was bad enough that I probably should have. Not to mention, they put onions in the salisbury steak. Heathens! I swear, it’s like they’re trying to kill me in here.
It’s not fighting aliens or trying to hold onto the world, but it’s a dire challenge standing before me now. I’m going to need my strength. And a giant robot…no, that didn’t work out the best and it’d be wrecked by now. And I couldn’t pilot the damn thing anyway. Shit. I keep running into more and more tricks I can’t pull off without that now. But I’ll get out. Somehow. It was just time for my yearly incarceration, is all.
Even though this is no damn time for sulking, they sure wanted me to. They sent in a shrink. Another unnamed doctor, probably to protect them from legal or lethal consequences. They brought in a medical one as well, overseeing my continued recovery, but I figured out this one was different when he sat down to ask me, “I understand you’ve been having nightmares?”
“It’s the rape, doc,” I told him. “I’m just not getting enough of it. Used to be, I could walk out the door, get drunk at a bar, and wake up ass down in a pool of someone else’s bodily fluids. It really validates my existence, you know.”
“Really. It’s a little boring in here. Is there any sort of music you like? Maybe something that relaxes you or makes you feel contemplative?” he asked. “You’re in a bad enough state as-is due to your surgery. It’s understandable that you would be upset right now.”
“Upset?” I asked, grinning at him from my bed. If he put it any milder, it’d be a sauce at Burrito Bell. “I guess I am. I’m missing a concert by my favorite Israeli band, Final Solution. They play death metal.”
So it goes without saying that guy left a bit frustrated, and probably with even fewer psychological insights to share with the people already keeping me secretly imprisoned. Though I do have to question how much of a secret it could possibly be with everyone they’re letting in on it. Then again, I suppose that’s a secret you could shout on the streets in the middle of traffic every day and everyone would pretend they didn’t hear anything.
And then, after I’d already used my perfectly good rape joke, did they send in the person I least wanted to see. You know her, you hate her, ladies and gentlemen, it was Venus! And if that sounds like too much of an introduction, you should have seen the clapping that went along with it. “My hero! She’s finally arrived! Tell me, you set any more clones of me loose on the world while I was out of it?”
She crossed her arms. “I came to see if you were alright. I’m trying to show you I care.”
I rubbed at my head incision with my middle finger. “Pardon me if I don’t see it that way. You know how people like to say they’re fighting fire with fire? You went up to a burning house and decided, ‘You know what I should do? Whip out the flamethrower!’ But you’ve managed a fine end to my little tale, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, you know. Lock me up. Take away my powers. Forget about me in the sub-sub-sub basement. Let the world recover and forget about me. But I’m telling you now, I’ll get out of here. You haven’t seen the last of me! I’ll be free and then the world will fear me once more! Plus, I’m totally gonna get back at you. Kill ya you dead. D-E-D, dead.”
I went for the theatrical raised fist and everything. Venus just patted me on the head. “There, there.”
“Stop!” I tried brushing her hand away.
“I understand this is hard on you,” she said while continuing to pet me in the spot that doesn’t traditionally get hard on me upon physical contact with a woman. “Want a cookie?”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t want a damn cookie! I want to pull your heart out through your belly button and use it like a football. And maybe turn your tongue into a sextoy, that’s part optional. I’m not really a necrophiliac, you understand. Not that I’m judging. After all, I know one of your boyfriends IS dead.”
She shoved the cookie into my mouth and gave me a hug. A hug! Me! Shit like that is seriously overloading my monthly exclamation limit, and that’s sticking to only one per sentence.
After a rather unmanly scene where I most certainly did not cry unless I somehow get a chance at winning an award, she left. And while I don’t always understand my odd little nemesis, I have resolved one thing for sure. After I get out of here, I’m going to kill her. No, seriously, I mean it this time. Doesn’t matter how many damn cookies she gives me.
Because I came to this world to give people a piece of my mind and kick ass. And I’m all out of my mind.