They arrived, all of them. All twenty-two of them, armed with tranquilizer guns, flamethrowers, tasers, beating sticks, heavy armor and a look of fear in its purest sense as they stormed into the room. I began to wish I had lied. I wondered why I had told him the truth. Facing another burst of pain was better than whatever they were going to do with me. “Stand,” a woman with a horribly disfigured face in the front the herd ordered angrily. I did as I was told and was then shoved into the center of the people, all of them staring at me as if I was going to murder each of them with a blink of my eye. I wondered why it seemed they feared me so much as I was shuffled through the winding concrete halls like a serial killer. Curiosity flooded through my veins as I was moved into a room with a strange green light fixture which made everything seem like it was out of a post-apocalyptic film. I laughed at myself and my ability to think of movies at a time like this. All eyes turned to me as my short-lived giggle ended. I immediately regretted allowing it to slip from my lips. All guns were aimed toward me as I quickly turned my eyes to the floor and acted as though nothing had happened. We stood like that for a long time before finally, someone wearing a large technologically advanced suit made of an unknown metal walked into the room and entered a passcode, which he shielded from us with his body. It was then that I missed having super hearing the most. I could have been able to hear it and its slight differences between numbers. I would have been able to decode what his password was. Once he was finished, the wall opened up as I realized there had been a seam in the wall I didn’t notice.
I was shoved into the asylum-white room which had two chairs facing one another, one with metal cuffs on the armrest and the other without. I gulped, knowing what laid ahead was not going to be pleasant. They quickly took the handcuffs off of me. I felt my power returning like a breath of fresh air for the first time in months. I could feel the wrath of the sea returning to my veins where it could be commanded at my will. I felt the lifeblood of the world as it was returned to me once more. I was filled with such relief to be returned I didn’t mind that they had slammed my wrists down into the cuffed chair before lining up against the wall to watch what was going to happen, their looks of terror having grown from a simple face of haunted dreams to that of facing some kind of instant death. The muttered amongst themselves about me being “the one” they seemed not to understand the concept of hearing, as they continued to speak of their orders and how they had changed. They exchanged theories and jokes about me and whoever they were working for. I simply sighed and studied the ground beneath my chair, trying hard not to seem interested in what they had to say to one another. I realized there was a large rectangle carved into the floor around where I sat.
There wasn’t time to look closer before I heard footsteps outside of the supposedly sound-proof walls. I had heard those footsteps before, but there was something else. A squeaky metal cart screamed down the hall with the slightly overweight man. The wall opened up and he stepped in. My jaw dropped as I looked straight into his dark brown eyes. He smiled evilly and wheeled the cart up close so I could see the contents on the metal shelves. Guns, matches, tranquilizer darts, knives, needles, ropes, paper, poisons, headphones with undoubtedly awful sounds on them, and scissors, adorned the table. Basically, anything which could be used to torture another living creature could probably be found somewhere along the multitude of other cruel items. “Alright,” Dr. Yellow-Tie said as he sat down. “Pleasure to see you again,” he said and stuck out his hand for me to shake. I glared up at him. He sighed theatrically. “Anyways, I have a few questions to ask you, some things I’d like you to do, a couple things I need built, and a bunch of things I can do to get you to do these things,” he said and smiled maliciously. “I can ask nicely,” he said. “Or I can leave scars on your young skin, which I would prefer not to have to do, but I will if I must,” he breathed. Seeing as I didn’t speak, he began with the simple question of “have you experienced any changes since I injected you with my serum?” I said nothing, and instead looked dead into his black eyes. He sighed and raised his hand. I watched it gain speed before coming crashing down onto my face, leaving what felt like scorches. He repeated the question but my silence remained. He repeated his action and then his words more forcefully each time.