Victim (Language and Content Warning!)

[theredshadow]

Guess I should have one of those fanfic disclaimers here about how I don't own anything to do with the Gen13 and DV8 comics, the characters used herein that originate from those comics, etc etc.
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"If you fall down even one more time, so help me God, I'll make sure your ankles aren't the only broken bones you'll be dealing with! Now move it!" The gruff guard took delight in giving me a vicious shove and waited for me to fall again so he could prove his menace. But, despite one fractured ankle and it's severely sprained counterpart, I stayed on my feet. I didn't even cry this time. I'm getting used to the abuse it would seem.

"Dickhead," I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that, you ingrate?" His forehead and cheeks flushed red as he and I locked eyes. I wanted to fry his brain so bad, but he wore the same device that was standard for all I.O. staff: a psychokinetic blocker that protects the wearer from most of the abilities of the Gen-Active test subjects at this facility. Unless you're at the level of Threshold, the greatest psychokinetic to ever come out of I.O. in it's existence.

"I didn't say anything." I looked at the floor.

"Damn straight you didn't."

We headed down the shadowy corridor, passing many bleak doors with the smallest little barred windows in the upper center. Behind some were nothing but darkness but every once in awhile you'd see a pair of scared eyes. It was very quiet with no sign of sobbing or whimpering. We all knew better than that. Well, sometimes I didn't but only when I was feeling especially bold. That didn't happen a lot anymore and the fading scars beneath my dirty jumpsuit bore that out.

Around the next corner were two more I.O. guards standing outside an open room. They immediately tensed up when they saw us approaching. One even replaced his dark blue hat quickly before nodding at the guard that had accompanied me.

"Evenin', Carver," he blurted and then averted his eyes downward. He was glistening with sweat even though the cell blocks were always unnaturally chilly. I could even see my breath some nights. He shuffled nervously.

"You two dumb sons-a-b*tches done comparing wang sizes so we can get this human waste secured? I wanna hit the mess hall before that sh*t they pass off as food gets any less edible than it already is." Jameson, the nervous guard, grabbed my arm and forced me into the small, non-descript room. The other guard, a chubby and disturbed man by the name of Oliver followed in and stuck his finger in my mouth before I knew it was coming. I wanted to bite down on it but he had removed it so fast that I just stared back stupidly. He was sniffing his finger fervently.

"Oliver, you sick f**k, stop that sh*t this instant," yelled Carver, who was wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. "Grab the restraint on the wall and cinch him up. We're gonna let him think about things for awhile." A smirk descended all the way down his face and rested comfortably on his cracked lips.

"Yes sir!" said the guards, in unison. One last shove brought me hard into the wall and the restraint mechanism was already wrapped around my shoulders and torso. The rusty chain that hung from the ceiling hoisted me up about a foot and a half in the air so that my feet wouldn't touch the ground. At least my ankles might stop throbbing from supporting my weight.

"Looks good, you fools. Get your asses out of here. Get us a good table tonight."

The two guards slipped out, but not without Oliver casting me one more perverted glance. I sucked some air into my lungs but didn't say a word. Carver backed out of the room and swung the heavy door shut with a thud. As their footsteps faded into the distance I heard a tiny dripping noise from below me. I looked down and was astonished to see a trickle of blood falling from my sprained ankle. Apparently the "doctors" had broken the skin when they were turning my ankle one way and then another.

As I swung lazily from the ceiling in my restraint my mind wandered to my first days here at I.O., when all of us young and naive teens thought this was going to be an exciting new chapter in our lives. Little did we know that the powers that be wanted to harvest the promising ones for their evil use and kill off the weak or those who wouldn't manifest. After the ones that are now known as Gen13 escaped, it became more like a concentration camp than a fun summer getaway. I only wish I could escape here and join Fairchild, her friends and her mentor, John Lynch.

But now is not the time to dwell on that nonsense again. Getting out of here is nearly impossible. I've seen too many others die trying to escape, or even if the powers that be find out that you are plotting an attempt. Javelin died that way, as did Maul. And even now my neighbor to the east, Surefire, has been too vocal about his intentions to escape and take a few fat guards out along the way. He's going to get himself eliminated and no one is going to care.

Who really does care? I can't help but wonder. Would Fairchild care about me if I was a stain on a cell door? Surely she remembers me. I tried to talk to her a few times and she was always very nice, even though I could tell she was uncomfortable. Perhaps she was just trying to adjust to the exercises they kept having us perform those first few weeks, before everything turned ugly. Perhaps she thought I was repugnant and was just too goodhearted to tell me to my face.

I should be used to getting the worst end of things. I should be dead with all of the testing and torture I've endured. I should be a bloody puddle at the boots of a gang of I.O. guards. A million times over, in fact. I don't know how I endure, but I do. I've been told it's thanks to the same powers that be that hold me in this dank cell. The things they've done to me have enabled me to survive, endure, live according to what little idle chatter is allowed. I've lived while so many other promising teens have died horrifically. And every face, name and death are permanently locked within my memories due to my mental abilities, so I can relive them every night in my dreams and every day in my cell when I have nowhere else to be.

With the images of those faces in my head, along with Caitlin Fairchild's, I finally shed the tears that should have come at the hands of my tormentors hours before. They intermingle with the blood on the floor beneath me, creating a bizarre red and white pattern that looks like the planet Jupiter. Eventually I succumb to unconsciousness where the images distort and mock me.

I am Victim, and this is my story.

[theredshadow]

"Waaiiggguuubbbb..."

"Wage ubb!"

"Wake up, shit-for-brains!!"

A blast of sizzling electricity hit me in the abdomen and with a wrenching start I exploded into consciousness.

"Holy shi-Yaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" I shivered and twitched until the current pulsing through me ceased. I heard a chuckling that was no doubt Oliver, but I couldn't see anything yet. This happened from time to time, a temporary blindness. It was either caused by the taser, the pain induced blackout of the night before, or possibly a combination of both. Point is, I'd been in this spot before. Unfortunately, I was pretty much helpless in a moldy little cell alone with a predator who had me in quite the precarious position. Luckily for me, he was not in a mood to take advantage of that fact, apparently, as he lowered me down once he could tell I was awake.

My sore feet were wobbly the moment they hit the floor, but with surprising strength and willpower I continued to stay upright. My vision was shaky, but was returning quickly.

"It's time for morning exercises, Mr. Yummy. Don't keep the trainers waiting." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the word 'trainers'. Doctors, trainers, researchers, scientists. All dandy little words that really just meant torturers, tormentors, terrorists. We were less to them than a rat in a maze. If we didn't produce results, we were trash, refuse.

"Whatever you say, creep." I uttered the last word at a mere whisper, and Oliver didn't seem to notice. I stepped warily toward the door but fatty pulled me back by the chain of my restraint.

"Gotta get this off of you first. Hold still, you won't feel a thing." That last part made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. And my stomach just about came up out of my throat when he began caressing my shoulders in a veiled attempt to undo the restraint. I stood as still as I could and waited for the inevitable. Damn, I was so sure he was going to let me be today. I jumped a little when the restraint's buckle snapped open and the apparatus fell to the floor. I started towards the door again and Oliver was on me but kept his hands off as we made our way through the hallways and up the grimy staircase that was the only way off of this floor.

At the top of the stairs stood Jameson, who was chatting it up with a newer guard whose name I hadn't heard yet. They only glanced my way as we walked by before returning to their conversation. I heard something menacing in their tone. They must have been talking about the month's end evaluations that were only a few days away. That's when they weed out the weak or the non-manifested. Most of them die, while some will spend a few weeks in what was known as the Reformitory. Last chance gulch, if you will. If you don't manifest there and prove your worth then you've seen your last days. I don't have to worry about that, I've been manifested for months. But there is still pain involved because I've seen many friends die.

A few more twists and turns down the corridors and we finally hit the outer yard and some fresh air. Considering some of the amazing abilities we have you would think we wouldn't be allowed outside. Well this I.O. facility is equipped with a security system that is best described as a psychokinetic blocker for a giant or a dinosaur. It encompasses the entire grounds of the building. There is also a wired mesh dome over the yard so even if you could fly you wouldn't get far before hitting the sturdy fenced roof. They have all the bases covered. Manned turrets and guards on patrol at all hours. It's like Alcatraz for the Gen-Active.

"Hey, it's Victim! Come on over, man." A small group of teens huddled in the center of the yard waves at me as a few trainers look on disapprovingly. Everyone is wearing their dark gray jumpsuits and soft shoes. Blisters abound daily as the shoes provide no protection to the bottom of your feet. They don't protect the tops either as the guards love to show off as they stomp down with their steel-toed boots.

"Hey guys. What's up?" I try to sound cool and unphased, but the walk across the yard is aggravating my tender ankles. Of course, I'm expected to exercise and train with a fractured foot and do it all with a smile. Our trainers will be pushing me extra hard today for sure.

"Victim, how are you today? They had you topside almost 12 hours yesterday. What the hell did they fuck up this time, huh?" asked a young Latino man known as Dose. Standing alongside him were twins Crack and Click, and two pretty girls, Thread and Marionette. Crack and Click were bruisers, both possessing amazing strength and the ability create earthquakes by combining their strength. Thread was able to focus her power within and become the shape and pliability of a rope or thread, but stronger than the most unbreakable chain. Marionette could manipulate a person from afar or take over their body like a spirit possession. But her ability drained her of energy fairly quickly and she had been to the Reformitory once to aid in solving the problem. She had only gained a minute amount of time and things weren't looking good for her.

Dose, who was looking at me and waiting for an answer, could poison a person with a look. The effects could be deadly or could simply knock someone out. He could pinpoint an individual person out of a crowd of thousands, or take down the entire group. He was particularly deadly and therefore very valuable to I.O. That's why he was the de facto head of our little group. It was his responsibility to keep us all in line, but he hated it here as much as we did so he was always loyal to us over the doctors and trainers. It was just nice to have someone on the 'inside' so to speak.

"I'm ok, just a little worse for wear. They jacked up my ankles something fierce though. I can only imagine what laps are gonna feel like today." I chuckled but no one else did. They all had that look on their face I've grown so accustomed to when it comes to my treatment here. They know I get the worst of it. "No worries though, guys. Please don't make a scene or anything." Fat chance. The girls were already tearing up a bit. Had I access to my powers I'd probably be able to hear their thoughts and I'd know how they were going to try to console me but for now I just waited for the inevitable.

As luck would have it though, the trainers were assembling everyone side by side. We lined up as well and waited. The head trainer, known by us as the Sarge, paced up and down the line. He didn't look happy but hell, he never did. But something was definitely on his mind today. Everyone could tell the same thing as I saw the terror growing in their eyes. Something bad was about to happen.

[theredshadow]

-Several months earlier-

"Go ahead and have a seat," said the beady-eyed bald man sitting across the table from me, "and we'll get started. "

I sat in the only chair available and stared at the two men across from me. The beady-eyed one looked like he ate babies for breakfast while the salt and pepper haired man next to him just stared complacently at me with no real expression. The shape of his hair and head reminded me of a king cobra snake. I looked down.

"What is your name, young man?"

I gulped. I couldn't remember my name. I had already become used to being called Victim. "Victim?" I asked.

"No, no, not your codename, your real name!" He seemed slightly peeved to have to clarify that.

"Uhhh, well, I don't think I remember it." I couldn't believe he asked me that, not after the incident a couple months earlier. We had been drilled to forget our real names ever since, and I thought he had to know that and was most likely playing mind games with me.

"Don't remember? As smart and powerful as you are and you don't remember your own name? Preposterous." He was actually smirking when he said that so it was confirmed: He was f**king with me. "Your name is Roman Bradley, young sir. Don't forget it." I could almost feel my eyes beginning to cross.

"Ok, let's begin. My name is Mr. McNamara and this is Mr. Grall." The beady-eyed one motioned to the gentleman beside him. They were both wearing impeccably neat and pressed black suits that seemed to make them look unusually surreal in this environment. "We're here to assess your progress and abilities at this time. We'll be reporting our findings directly to Ivana Baiul, the head of I.O."

I looked back at the pair and simply nodded as Mr. McNamara opened a folder tagged with my codename on the front: Victim. He flipped a few pages in and read over something before looking at me again.

"This is quite impressive, young man. It's incredible to believe that your psychokinetic powers rival only those of Threshold's. In fact, you have more reported abilities than he did during his time here. I say it again, quite impressive." He smiled crookedly and winked at me. I shuddered. Mr. Grall also smiled; a big toothy grin that both mocked and disturbed me.

"According to the trainers and the doctors you have the ability to communicate with animals. You can also control species of all kinds, sizes and demeanors. You can have them perform tasks, serve as protection, as well as attack. Very useful, I'd say." McNamara scanned down the page a little. His eyes widened a little.

"This is quite amazing, Mr. Grall. Our young 'mage' here can heal himself and others with just the touch of his hand. This renders him almost invulnerable. Quite useful in battle situations and operations of the most dangerous sorts, wouldn't you say?" he asked his partner.

"Why yessss, amazzzing." I just about crapped my pants. Did his tongue just flick out?

McNamara flipped another page and sat back in his chair, eyeing the document closely. Another five seconds or so passed before he looked back at me. "Can you read my mind, young man?" He leaned forward and seemed to look at me so intensely that it felt like he was actually looking through my head at some undetermined point on the wall behind me. I twitched slightly.

"N-no, sir. Not right now. Not that I know of." I was drowning in nerves.

"I see," and he chuckled. "Of course you can't right now, these psi-blockers that we all wear and have installed all about the facility keep that from happening. But it says here in your file that you are highly telepathic and have other extrasensory perceptions. You can control people's minds, for instance. Very powerful abilities, indeed." Mr. Grall leaned towards McNamara slightly and pointed at the page in my folder they were opened to.

"Oh yes, Mr. Grall has reminded me that your telepathic powers are a little more advanced than the normal telepath's. Most are able to read minds but forcing communication is on a step above. You have this ability. You can read my mind, hear my thoughts and secrets, bush league stuff really. But you can also force your own will and thoughts into my head. Not only could you control me but you could have a simple conversation with me without a word spoken. This is virtually impossible most of the time as a normal human can't communicate telepathically without the inherent ability. By reading a person's thoughts and then forcing your response into their head where they can then respond by simply thinking, you have opened up a brand new avenue of communication.

"Think of the applications of this. You could be called in on a hostage situation and communicate directly with the hostage. Not just read their mind of what they see but actually ask them questions about the event. You could also communicate with the comatose, such as retrieving vital information from them before they die. Astounding, Mr. Bradley." He flipped the page again.

"Ah, and here we come to the final known ability. Your most powerful and yet most crippling. It says here that you can concentrate all of your abilities into one very devastating psionic blast that emanates from your forehead. It can burn through steel and brick and can travel miles from your position with deadly accuracy. Unfortunately, the usage of this special ability practically causes unconsciousness on the spot. Now that isn't very beneficial, is it? Not in solo escapades, that's for sure. We'll be keeping our eyes on that one." He folded the manila file shut and leaned back once again.

"It strikes me that we sit before such a powerful Gen-Active entity and he is so frail and unassuming. You almost look like the wind could blow you away or snap you like a tall blade of grass. We mustn't have that happen. And you must prove your worth here at I.O. or else, despite all of your promise, you will be disposed of. Do you understand me? Do not cross us or any of the staff here. If you fail here we can make you disappear in a most agonizing way. You've already disappeared from the real world, boy. Remember that. Anything to add, Mr. Grall?" He didn't look away from me as his partner leaned forward. "No, sssir."

"Then be on your way, Victim. We'll see you again in three months." They both stood up but I was already out the door and into the arms of a couple heinous guards that had been assigned to me just days before. One nervous and twitchy, the other fat and perverted.

I didn't see the look that Mr. Grall and Mr. McNamara exchanged after my exit. It was a look of disconcertion and unease.