Teenage Mutant Super Soldiers

I do not understand why I fight. I know how I was created, I know it was to strengthen the power of America and its allies. I don’t understand why they felt this was necessary.

“This isn’t normal, Deatrix.” Caesar says with bitter sadness.

As a child, I didn’t understand what she meant cause this life was all I knew.

I began as the child of a woman that was willing to let her child be experimented on. For the sake of America. I’ve never met her since I was born. I think I’m fifteen, but that’s not for certain. None of us knew it was worth paying attention to the sun go up and down until it was too late. The scientists know, I’m sure. They refuse to tell us. They say it’s unnecessary information. Except Dehaviell knows his birthday. Lucky bastard.

When I was born, I was a freak. Intentionally so. My body had the capabilities of a grown adult as a newborn. Keyword being capability. I didn’t know how to use any of this strength, so I was basically hurting myself and the world around me more than I was actually doing what I wanted. Thankfully I was born with high level regeneration, so I was guaranteed to come out fine. I also had the capability to control Air around me, which I’ve heard repeatedly was a terror for those around me. I apparently was the only mutant child of my generation to accidentally kill people as a baby. I felt bad when I was younger, before the experiments got bad. And then we were forced to fight.

Once we were small children, I’d say around five, they began forcing us through a lot of brutal things. It began with lessons on using our powers. We each had multiple teachers that were experts in our powers. However, their version of our powers were weaker. Except for my superhuman body. Apparently due to trying to mash ever physical power into one, my body came out far below their expectations. At my current status, I’m barely Mr.Jones’ level in strength and speed.

This was a thing that would leave me burdened with the disdain of the scientists for my entire life. I have been constantly threatened because of my status as a Failure. In order to survive, I had to prove them wrong.

“We survive through the worst means, Deatrix.” Caesar says miserably.

We prove ourselves on the battlefield. I remember the first battle clearly. It was that day we learned there were others like us. Mutants stuck in these Training Grounds. We were a special batch. We just don’t know why. I assume it’s because we’re the strongest ones they’ve ever made.

There are five of us altogether, counting myself.

Caesar is a dark skinned girl with golden eyes. Her head is shaved, like all of ours apparently. However, when they slack on shaving our heads, I can tell she has blonde roots. She’s skinny, tall, and her eyes were sharp. She’s always thinking about something. I know she knows more than she ever tells me. The scientists are always yelling at her to go away when they’re talking. It’s cause she actually understands the things they’re saying. They talk about these science things with strange terms like ‘Artificial Evolution’, ‘Mutations’, and ‘Power’. I don’t understand any of it.

Dehaviell is a tanned, chubby kid with a weird haircut with a dumb name. A pompadour. I don’t understand why they spoil him so much. It makes me hate him sometimes. But despite that, he will become my best friend after this.

Ares is a pale kid with steel eyeballs and a glowing red core for pupils. His arms are mostly human at this point, except there are long barrels for guns sticking out of his forearms. And on his back is a large, steel backpack that I will later learn holds the bullets for his guns. He is meant to be a murder machine that can constantly evolve and adapt through his ability to connect to any machine attached to him. Caesar told me this.

Finally, there’s Merlin. When the adults talk about us as kids, they always say Merlin was the weirdest. One red eye, the other green. And a blue tongue. His hair was white. And he was tall. Merlin controls three elements. Fire, Earth, and Water. He’s meant as a show of control over mother nature. He’ll eventually become their second favorite, after Dehaviell. I have no idea why.

We didn’t get time to chat. We were introduced to one another, and told to stay in a group and follow our leader. They were a middle aged white woman with short brown hair in a black military uniform. I remember her powers being Metal Manipulation and Super Speed. A lower grade version of Ares.

At the time, she was one of America’s greatest soldiers. We were to be taught by her what war is, and how to excel at it. Her codename is Massacre Today’s battle was our proving grounds. We were quickly forced into our first battle.

A battleline of mutants with advanced armor and weapons on our side. And against them were the overwhelmed, wounded Rebels. The bastards labeled as Communists. The battlefield is a fancy part of a city. We’re approaching from an alley.

“Why are we here? I don’t want to fight.” Caesar asks fearfully.

She was close to crying. Massacre stopped us all, and stood in front of Caesar. This only made Caesar cry more. I remember becoming terrified as I saw Massacre’s face filled with pure disdain. She raised her hand to smack Caesar. She swung it down with a blur of inhuman speed. I barely see a swathe of color in the air before Caesar is crying from pain. Then Caesar is picked up, and pulled close to Massacre’s face.

“You are a weapon. You do not have time to cry. If you are crying, you will die.” Massacre states with furious firmness.

She throws Caesar without looking at the stone wall nearby. She smacks into it with a meaty thud, and slides to the ground. She begins to cry even more, and it attracts some Rebels. A few begin to approach us nervously. I remember the center one’s arms becoming tendrils of lava clearly.

Massacre turns to us, and points behind her. I remember her face is somehow scarier than the Rebels behind her. Even then, I knew who the truly scary ones were. It’s the side I’m on. Massacre screams furiously at us.

“Fight, or I will dispose of any failures myself!”

The Rebels…I could hear their hesitation.

“They’re just kids.”

“The one that got hurt reminds me of my daughter.”

“Could we capture them?”

That last thought filled us with more fear than anything else, I think.

“We have stockholm syndrome. We fear the outside world more than the devil that holds us in a cage.” Caesar said bitterly.

A lot of things Caesar tells me only makes sense after thinking so much about the past. She confuses me so much. But I also think she’s the only one who knows what’s going on.

Even back then. Caesar grows a steel knife out of the palm of her hand. Her power is labeled ‘Metal Manipulation’. She can create and control all metals in an unknown area. The scientists think they know her limits, but there’s a piece of advice Caesar gave me that I know means they don’t.

“You can’t ever let an enemy know your limits, and your full potential. If you learn that, you can eventually make a plan to kill anything.” she said seriously.

Caesar turns invisible, and the Rebels become nervous. Soon we see a cut emerge on the lava tentacles Rebel across his neck. Blood spills out his throat, and he falls to the ground. We hear Caesar gag and cough with disgust from what she done for a few seconds. The Rebels step back, shocked.

“She did it. She’s somewhere around us.”

“Don’t judge them. They don’t have a choice.”

“We have to fight for our lives!”

“I won’t kill a kid, no matter what.”

We were all shocked. We were young, but we all understood this was fucked up. We didn’t understand why the Rebels were hesitating. We didn’t know why we were being forced to kill. We did know that we’d die if we didn’t, and we could die if we did. We were frozen in place.

Until Ares became overwhelmed. He suddenly yells with miserable rage, and points his arms at the Rebels.

“I’m sorry! I want to live!” Ares yells miserably.

He begins firing at them, and the Rebels immediately fall back. I’m certain only a few bullets hit them, and if they did, they barely wounded them. This was noticed by Massacre, who quickly became furious. She strutted towards Ares with a cold, disappointed aura. Then she brings her hand to Ares’ throat. Her hand is covered in metal, reflecting my terrified face.

“You have been augmented with near 100% accuracy. Why did you miss?” she asks coldly.

Ares sniffles, and every word he says comes out with shaky fear.

“I-I-I swear I was-was trying-ing.”

“No, you clearly didn’t try. You even apologized before starting to fire. They are their enemy. They will kill you.” Massacre states coldly.

She brings her sharp hand right against his throat.

“If I don’t.” she threatens with an angry growl.

Then she becomes a blur, and I feel her hand against my throat now. It’s hot, and I feel the edge of a blade for the first time in this moment.

“You have done nothing. Start fighting.” Massacre orders coldly.

Then she’s suddenly behind Merlin, her hand pressed against his back.

“Or die.” she orders coldly.

And then she gets to Dehaviell. Even from the beginning, this guy was treated special. He was crying, and Massacre got on her knees with a polite smile. Thinking back on it, it’s clear Massacre is forcing herself to be nice. Her smile is strained, and her words carry disgust beneath them. But I never realized until Caesar pointed out how some people like Massacre don’t enjoy being nice to Dehaviell. That’s what made her realize it’s part of the experiment for Dehaviell for him to be treated nicely.

“Listen kid. I understand this is hard for you. War is hard for kids like you. But I need you to fight. Or else they might say you failed. And if you fail, you won’t get to watch tv tonight.” Massacre says.

This only makes Dehaviell cry more. It makes Massacre angry, and when she sees us all just watching, no fighting happening, not even from Caeser, she starts screaming at us.

“FIGHT OR DIE! I SWEAR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU LITTLE SHITS!”

Then I’m used as an example. It becomes a regular occurrence because I have high level regeneration. Massacre thrusts her metal hand through my stomach, and I experience one of the highest levels of pain in my entire life. I think it’s just cause it was the first time I experienced something that would be lethal for most people. Massacre pulls her hand out, and starts screaming at everyone. This gets them all moving, using their powers the best they can to fight. Even Dehaviell, though he’s crying as he does it.

I remember watching him as I laid on the ground, thinking I was gonna die. The wound made me lose focus for a minute. Then slowly the world got louder, and the colors returned back to normal. And I felt Massacre kick me in the back, where my wound used to be. I didn’t get the luxury to be shocked about being alive and well.

“Have you learned your lesson? Get up and fight.” she orders angrily.

I begin slowly standing up, and she kicks me hard in the chest. It pushes me back up on my feet, then she karate chops me in the back to prevent me from falling over. Then she spins me towards the Rebels, and shoves me forward. I remember my thoughts going blank, as I just focus on creating what the scientists called a Flying Slash. It was a simple arc of pressurized wind that can cut through metal. I remember them being proud I managed it.

Now I create it, and it comes out shaky. But it flies fast, and it manages to cut into a Rebel. It cuts the middle of their torso open, and they scream with pain. When I inflicted a wound like this for the first time, disgust filled me. I hated myself. I stopped in place. Tears ran down my face.

An older man was being attacked by Merlin and Dehaviell. They were both shooting torrents of flames at him. The older man had an invisible, psychic dome around him. They were easily fending off the flames.

Then it happened for the first time. Something that became regular in our lives. Something that we had to ignore, because what they offered wasn’t possible for us.

“They won’t let us get away. We’re too valuable.” Caesar says with bitter certainty.

“You do not have to do this! Please! Stop fighting! We will save you!” the older man yells desperately.

We all hesitated, cause of course we wanted to stop. We were children, and we already knew being forced into a war was the worst thing ever.

Massacre was behind him in an instant, shoving her hand through his forehead. His forehead was left a mess, his entire upper half caving in and blood leaking thickly out the cracks. Once more, she yells furiously.

“KEEP FIGHTING OR DIE!”

And we did. Quickly, the Rebels began to fall to our assault. We weren’t stronger than them yet. It was because they hesitated. Because they didn’t go all out. And we fought as though our lives depended on it.

My first tough fight was with a tanned teenager. He was armed with a uzi and a machete. He wore a red headband around his forehead with blonde hair sticking up straight. It shined because of the hair gel, I think. He had blue eyes. He was a bit muscular, but still pretty lean. Wore a white tank top, bloody blue jeans, and black sneakers.

His power was Air Manipulation. And unfortunately for me, this dude wasn’t a slouch. He dashed at me, using the air to propel him. He swings the flat side of his machete hard at me. I use wind to push it back, but he still manages to push through and slam his blade against my head. It hurt, but it was dull in comparison to the hole in my stomach.

I swing my left fist up from my hip towards his gut. He creates a ring of air around my fist, then makes the air press up hard against my hand from all sides. This stops my fist, and shreds my hand’s skin. Within seconds, blood is spewing out of it and muscle is exposed. This makes the teen hesitate, and even smile sheepishly.

“Sorry kid. I thought you’d be tougher. And I’m pissed off you just killed that guy as well.” he says with amused bravado.

Caesar later told me she thought the guy was just playing a tough guy. At the time, he seemed confident and scary. Especially with how he easily swung his foot into my face with a roundhouse kick. I stumble back a few feet, nearly falling. As I regain my footing, the teenager has sheathed his blade, and taken the sheath off his belt. He points the sheathed machete at me.

“I’ll try not to kill you. Hurting kids makes me feel bad.” he says confidently.

He dashed forward, and swung the machete directly down towards my head. I brought my arms up to block, and it smacked dully against my arms. Then I grabbed onto it before the teen could pull it away. He doesn’t have a chance against my strength. I easily ripped the machete out of his hands. Then I placed my hand against the handle, and hesitated.

The teenager was looking at me with fear. But he’s still getting back up. He curled his hand’s fingers towards himself, and I felt wind try to rip the machete out of my hand. A hand that easily ignores the wind shredding it. I watch it for a moment. My skin constantly growing and being peeled off as the wind tries to pry them off the blade.

The pain makes everything fade away, and this would be the beginning of my indulgence of pain. It made everything blank except the existence of the pain. It helped me forget, to a major extent, why and how terrible my existence was. There was just pain.

But then I heard Massacre screaming at me to focus, and I forced myself to draw the machete. Then I copied the teenager, and use the wind to dash forward at an insanely high speed. I barely handled it, and even in that intense moment, I felt regret doing it. Especially when the teenager pushed out a powerful torrent of wind at me, and it felt like hitting a wall.

I pushed through the wind and the pain, until I was feet in front of him. The pain and this battle created a core of bloodlust and malice in my young heart at that moment. This malice gives me intuition in battle unlike any other. I desired to stop his wind, and so I compelled the air with a thought and a furious, high pitched roar to stop. And I overwhelmed his control over the wind, leaving him with nothing.

His face became consumed with terror, and he shook his hand uselessly at me. I charged, and swung the machete into his chest. I cleaved deeply into his body, cutting through his heart and stopping at his spine. Then his body slumped instantly, and he fell. Dead.

I stared at his body for a minute. The malice I had welled up has been replaced with guilt. I couldn’t help but appreciate the lessons he just gave me on my Air Manipulation. I couldn’t help but feel pride and extreme guilt in what I just did. I was conflicted, stuck on this spot. I was ignored. Only because they began to run. And cleanup duty soon turned to Ares and I.

“You both have superspeed. Finish them off.” Massacre orders coldly.

Ares races off without hesitation. I follow a few seconds after, and receive a hard smack on the back of the head for hesitating. Ares caught up with them within seconds, and shot them to bits. As he fired, he cried apologies the entire time. I only caught up by the time they were dead. When it was done, Ares and I just looked at each other. Guilt filled me in a lot of ways. And I apologized in the worst way.

“Sorry I didn’t help.”

But being fair, I was a kid. Kids are stupid. Ares just stared at me, not saying a word. But tears streamed down his face.

Within seconds, Massacre was feet away from us. She stared at me with disgust.

“If it was up to me, you’d be declared a Failure right here and now.” she says.

I don’t really remember going back to the Training Grounds after that. I remember a few days later, I was in a room with two scientists I’m incredibly familiar with, and a General that I would see after every battle from this point on in my life.

On the General’s left is a young, pale white man with wild brown hair that hangs down to his shoulders. He wears black sunglasses, a white lab coat, a black button up with a white tie, and black pants. His name is Dr.Henderson. His body is tall, and lean. His smile is a bit too wide.

On the General’s right is a middle aged white man with a bald head, light blue metal glasses, and gray eyes. He stares at me like an object all the time. He wears a gray suit, with a white dress shirt, and a black tie. His name is Dr.Adams.

The General is an extremely buff black man. Like he stands eight feet tall, and his biceps are two feet thick. His lower jaw is completely metal, and square as a brick. He wears a dark blue jacket with several medals pinned to his chest. Dark blue pants, and black dress shoes. His clothes were a bit tight around his body, clearly showing his muscles off. This man scared the shit out of me just from the first time I saw him, and honestly, I know he’s the friendliest one out of this bunch. Not that it’s hard to be a nice guy besides two of the actual scientists in charge of the experiments on us. The General’s name is General Thompson.

We were in a simple room. They sat behind a plastic table, with some files in front of all of them. There was a projector in the room, and it showed a paused video of the battle that just happened.

The General took a deep breath, and smiled at me. It felt confusing after the hell I went through. I didn’t know if it was a kind smile, or a cruel one. With hindsight, I know it’s the smile he gives when he’s proud of a soldier.

“You did alright for your first time, kid. You managed to kill two people, one that had a power that was the same as one of yours. In addition, you overwhelmed that power altogether. Quite impressive.” he said nicely.

Dr.Henderson giggled, and it sounded wicked to me. It always does.

“Would you like to keep the machete? The uzi he had is inferior to our guns, but the machete is of good quality. A warrior might want to keep his first weapon, after all.” he said with eager amusement.

Dr.Adams sighed annoyedly.

“He isn’t a warrior, he’s a soldier and our experiment. Don’t give him any ideas.” he said sternly.

“A man can be both.” General Thompson said calmly.

“We don’t need him thinking anything else than what we need him to think. A warrior mentality would compromise his potential. We don’t need him to be rash or chivalrous. Henderson, why did you even suggest this?” Dr.Adams said with firm annoyance.

“I just thought he’d like it. It’s a nice trophy, after all. Something to be proud of.” Dr.Henderson said amusedly.

I’m silent for a few moments while they argue. I was flashing back to the scene where I killed that teenager. I shudder. But then, the malice within me acknowledges the usefulness of a good blade. I nod and speak. My voice comes out weak, my misery clear.

“I’d like to keep it, yes.”

“No, forget it.” Dr.Adams said firmly.

“I’ll have it brought to your room.” Dr.Henderson said eagerly.

“What!? Are you insane!?” Dr.Adams said with angry disbelief.

Both the General and Dr.Adams were staring at Dr.Henderson with shock. But then the General’s face became deadly serious, and it made Dr.Henderson stop smiling.

“It would be a major security risk for him to have a weapon in his room. That’s not happening.” General Thompson stated firmly.

Dr.Henderson’s smile returns sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, it was a dumb idea.” he said.

General Thompson turned back to me. He stares at me for a moment, then smiles as eagerly as Dr.Henderson.

“You won’t have that machete. We’ll make you a better one. And maybe get you a pistol too.” he said warmly.

“Yes!” Dr.Henderson said happily.

“What, no! Who said we’re training him, or any of them for that manner with weapons!?” Dr.Adams said angrily.

Dr.Henderson pumped his fist as Dr.Adams complained. General Thompson turned to Dr.Adams with a confident smile.

“I said we’re training them with weapons. All of them.” he said firmly.

I laughed along with Dr.Henderson at Dr.Adams. General Thompson reprimanded me with a single stern look, shutting me up instantly. He does the same with Dr.Henderson. Then he turned back to me, a serious look on his face.

“With all that said, it is time for a round of criticism, and then we will explain how we will improve on these things. First of all, you hesitated to fight a lot during this fight. Second, one of your powers, your superhuman physical abilities, are lacking the power we expected you to have.” General Thompson explained.

“In regards to your hesitation, we will begin combat training to help with this. It’s something you all have to improve on. But you especially.” Dr.Adams said with disdain.

“As for your muscles, we believe the answer is quite simple. Extensive amounts of exercise. And perhaps some steroids on the side.” Dr.Henderson says happily.

I knew as a kid I didn’t like the sound of steroids. But I already knew I didn’t have a choice. It wouldn’t be the first time, even at that age, that needles and strange drugs were put in me. I just nod, having already accepted my fate.