PROLOGUE (BRYCE BLAIR):
Bryce Blair looked at the pale cream white walls, bone-tired and flustered after yet another mission. Another day of guessing who and what he truly was. He was sitting on a metal chair, cold to the touch. A shiver ran down his spine, making his bones shudder in response. A shadow materialized in the room. So familiar to his vision that swirled and swirled, making everything seem larger.
“Do you remember your name?” The anonymous voice sounded in his ears, like a drill buzzing in his ear drum. He wanted to silence the noise. To get off this chair. To fight. But the buzz had died down. He was too tired. Too confused.
“Bryce Blair.” He whispered, to the man that stood staring at him with such a condescending gaze that made Bryce cower under a sheet of his own sweat, making his voice sound faint in the white washed room.
“Bryce. Bryce. Bryce” The man repeated his name on his accented tongue with a sense of annoyance. Bryce instantly felt discomfort. Then the man took off with his pounding footsteps on the concrete tiles, approaching a group of men. Murmurs grew, ones that even he could not hear. He sat, waiting. The icy chair made his blood cold in his veins, as if they were clotting till his near end.
“Will you keep me in this chair?” He asked, his voice shrill with fear. Realization dawned on him that his hands were strapped in leather to the metal chair, making his fingers, his whole arm demobilized and numb. “Please let me go!” He cried out, but his shout was deadpanned by a pair of gloved hands that choked his spit of erratic words, throttling them in his mouth.
He stared at those green eyes, cold and fearless. Bryce wished they were his own. That his feelings didn’t betray him as they did now. As sweat beaded down his throat and forehead. As his tongue tied to the point where his words came in gurgles from his throat.
His shouts, begs for forgiveness were shoved down his throat by a gag that was secured down his teeth. He tried to speak, tried to shout something to make them stop, but his begs were soon replaced by screams as the metal chair secured its place by a large machine that sat in the center of the room.
Two head pieces fitted onto the crown of his head, securing a firm grip to his skull. Then the pain flooded through him, his nerves crackled in response, sending bursts of agony through flooded pathways down to his wrists, his chest which was contracting even more, and his feet.
He screamed through the torture that burst through him like a broken dam, making his skin stretch taut against his bones.
His chest heaved, he tried to release his hands from the brace. But nothing could beat the command that pulsed through his torment. Nothing could beat the screams in his throat that did not die down, not once throughout the whole process. His lungs were raw, his throat scratchy, but still the pain wrenched through his whole body. It flung itself onto him, it battled his soul for space. It ate through every shred of pure emotion. He closed his eyes against the burning that fluttered through him, closing them tight against the fire inside of him before it completely took over his whole body.
It shredded Bryce, the real him, in half. Replacing him with a man who knew not of who he was. He was made anew. A man who did not know his purpose. A man that was controlled from his actions to his thoughts. A man with no freedom. No name. He opened his eyes, his blue irises bloodshot and dilating as he stared at the white walls once more. He was a man that no one truly knew other than the fact that he was the Gelid Soldier.