Unable to Forget

So, we arrived; I’m not sure how long the ride was, but it ended just when I was beginning to think I was stuck in one endless period of time. Between the tirelessly repeating voice and the white walls mocking my impurity, it had seemed possible that that little cage in the back of that van would become my hell.

            But hell is a much more crowded place, and like all things of great evil it is orchestrated hands-on by man�"hell is a place called The Facility.

 

            They lost no time upon opening the door. There was a bright blue light, followed by a numbing pain; and while my mind ran about in scattered confusion they prepared me for my first day at the facility.

            Glaring white cuffs of an unnervingly cold metal encircled my wrists and glued them side by side; no chains. Something similar bound my ankles. A mask�"just like the hockey masks I’d seen so many times on television, but again made of the white metal�"fell upon my face and was secured painfully tight at the back of my head.

            By this time, my mind had cleared, but just as I glimpsed the unfamiliar blur of my surroundings I was unceremoniously scooped into a white plastic sack. A drawstring pulled the bag shut, blotting out the light; my resulting whimper brought a swift blow to my prison, catching me upside the head and causing my ears to ring. I remained silent after that and felt myself carried toward some unknown destination.

 

“You were born a sinner,” a disembodied voice suddenly stated, as if to calmly assert my greatest fear. “The sin flows through your veins. You cannot destroy it, but you can redeem yourself. God says, ‘Honor thy father and mother.’ In order to redeem yourself in the eyes of God, you must honor and obey The Facility. The Facility will take care of you. The Facility will protect you…The Facility will save you.”

 

            I was quite awed by the end of this sermon; but in the pause afterward I found myself deposited roughly on a hard tile floor.

            The sudden burst of light burned my eyes, forcing them closed; and I heard the sermon begin to repeat itself. Just like in that awful van, I realized, a recording. But beneath it I heard a new murmur of speech, independent of the flat but encouraging voice that I now recognized as coming from the ceiling.

            Slowly, I opened my eyes, and for the first time beheld the man who would be my commander.

            He was rather short, no taller than five foot at the most; but, considering my height at the time and the angry redness of his scowling face, he’d seemed highly intimidating. Every visible inch of him�"from head to eyebrows to knuckles�"was clean-shaven, giving him a sort of spotless sheen. He was thickset, though fit, and his uniform pulled tight over his muscled chest.

            The uniform I knew from peeks at the news when the head of the center wasn’t watching�"patterned army camouflage style, but in black and white. It marked its wearer as a member of the Genocore, an organization that popped up from time to time, picking up the random genetic freaks that were deemed dangerous and “training them to control and make their powers useful to society.” What a load.

 

            Anyways, the commander was talking to one of the suited men�"or rather, nodding as he was informed in low whispers. All the while, though, his steel-grey eyes bore into me, knifing their way into my soul.

            Every few seconds, his nostrils flared angrily, and I swear he turned redder. I imagined him as a dragon, puffing up and preparing to consume me in a blazing inferno.

            When the other man finally walked away and the commander started toward me, I feared exactly that. I cowered in my place, eyes wide with fear. I cringed and whimpered as his boots thudded on the clean, tile floor. He knelt down briefly, touching something to his mask and cuffs that caused them to fall to the floor instantly. He stood without further ado.

 

“Get up, boy.” He grunted.

 

I flinched and scrambled hurriedly to my feet.

 

“Strip.”

 

“S-Sir?”

 

A sharp pain radiated through my head and my ears rang. His fist returned to his side.

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”

 

I shuffled out of my clothes, receiving another blow to the head every few moments when I was too slow.

Then I stood naked, vulnerable, and frightened. When I tried to cover myself, he took a baton from his belt and struck me with it.

 

“A soldier has no dignity.”

 

I let my hands fall to my sides, fisted and shaking.

 

“What can you do?”

 

“Sir?”

 

Another strike.

 

“What is your deformity?”

 

“I-I have strange eyes, sir?”

 

“Not your physical manifestations, boy. Your skills.”

 

“I don’t have any skills, sir.”

 

“If you didn’t have skills, you wouldn’t be here. Now what are your skills?”

 

“I…I don’t know, sir.”

 

Another blow.

 

“If you don’t know, then we’ll have to find out.”

 

He walked past me, and I shivered pitifully as I listened to him shuffle around behind me. Seconds ticked by and I grew more and more anxious�"wondering what could possibly come next.

Finally, a blast of searing heat washed over me. I screamed and tried to flee, but the heat followed until I was pinned in a corner, cowering. I sobbed pitifully as the heat seemed to increase until I felt as if my skin might boil off.

 

“If you don’t do something soon, boy, your skin will peel off.” His voice echoed coldly off the walls around us.

 

He couldn’t mean that, could he? I’d thought. No one in their right mind would do that…not to a child.

 

I shook my head and gritted my teeth against the pain, waiting for the moment when the man would give up and relieve my pain, but his next words shattered my hope.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, boy, and you’re wrong. I could give a s**t less if you die. And do you know why?”

 

“No, no, no. Please, just turn it off! I don’t know what you want!” I heard myself pleading pitifully. Looking back now, I find it hard to imagine that kind of weakness in myself. I look on my young self with a sort of cold disgust, hating the innocent foolishness that dwelt in such a young heart. You’d think an outcast orphan would have grown some balls by that time…but then…they came in time.

 

He must have felt the same disgust I feel now, for I heard him spit noisily on the floor behind me. “’Cus if you die now…it means you were too weak to be useful to the Facility. I’ve had freaks come to me, maws slavering like the hounds of hell, trying everything they could to end me…and I broke them. But if you haven’t even got the balls attached to that hairless prick of yours to even try to save yourself, then you’re worthless to me.”

 

With the shriek of an un-oiled metal dial that tore through me like lightning, the heat increased, and I shrieked in agony. I scrambled along the walls, trying to escape, but the pain followed. I clawed at the tiled walls desperately, my nails scraping off ineffectually and sending a jolt of irritation up my bones.

 

“Time’s about up, boy. You got the balls or don’t you? You want to be a man someday, or spend the rest of your life as a helpless little orphan brat, whining for mommy to come wipe your nose?”

 

A snarl of defiance ripped through me from somewhere deep inside, unleashing the fury and hurt I’d kept pent up for so long. My hands fisted, ragged nails biting into the young flesh of my palms.

            The steam had built up around me so much by now that I could no longer see my fists against the wall, but it seemed colored by a cold blue haze.  I clenched my teeth as pain shot through my gums, and then flinched and licked my lower lip only to taste the tang of blood. The haze was suddenly outlined in red, and everything came into sharp focus.

            I could see every particle of the steam in the air, and past that, to make out the flaws in the tiles before my face. My pain was suddenly even more realized as I locked onto it with acute focus, noticing with a sudden familiarity how every inch of me was feeling and which areas were in danger.

            I squeezed my eyes shut as a shudder tore its way through my body and I felt my nails grow, the blood trickling down my wrists as they ate their way through my hands. Then they were pushed out as I felt the wounds close and my skin toughen, growing taught and firm.

            A savage snarl rolled off my tongue and past my hungry lips as I turned, fighting my way towards him, pushing against the water pressure that I should not have been able to surpass at my age.

            He dropped the hose as soon as I reached him�"giving in too easily, I should have realized�"as I gripped his shirt and ran him into the opposite wall. His breath came out in a rush, washing over my face and filling my nostrils with the rank scent of chewing tobacco.

            I looked into his eyes, this part of me expecting to see fear, and instead finding smug triumph and…amusement? I questioned this too late as his baton pressed roughly ribs and a shock ripped through me. I dropped, listening to the clatter of cracked tiles as he moved away from the wall.

            He paced around me slowly, nudging me with the baton every now and then as my child’s form was coaxed back out through repeated electric pulses. I trembled in my ball of confusion and panic, sobbing as the events of the day overwhelmed me.

 

He stopped pacing and stood over me. I could feel his eyes boring into my bare back.

 

“Dry up those tears, boy, or they’ll be beaten out of you soon enough. You’ll do fine here…I’ll make you a perfect killing machine in time…but keep in mind…”

 

He kicked my side so that I rolled over and looked up at him. He planted a booted foot on my cheek and pressed the other side of my face into the floor, but my eyes remained locked with his cold ones as he stared down at me.

 

“You step too far out of line…and I’ll kill ya’.”

 A wry grin spread across his face and he spit tobacco juice on my chest before walking away.

 

 “Clean the filth of the outside off. I’ll be back with your uniform.”

 

At the time, though I lay there sobbing for a while before I finally got up, I told myself that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Sure, there would be plenty of pain, I had no doubt of that…but that could be gotten used to. All bad things eventually faded into the background of life to be forgotten, as I had learned with the loss of my parents.

 

But I was wrong…not everything can be forgotten so easily.

 

 

            A final punch at the tail-end of an erratic barrage sends the punching bag whirling. The chain snaps and I focus my anger into one last punch that sends it flying into the opposite wall. Drywall rains down from the ceiling.

 

I stand there, panting, for a long moment as I bring my thoughts back into the present. The gym has gone silent; I can feel all eyes on me. I turn and give them one quick, sweeping glance. Their gazes show a scattering of fear mixed with awe and disgust. The owner frowns at me in suppressed irritation�"were I any normal man, I’m sure he would break my jaw and demand I pay.

I smirk confidently at them before pushing them from my mind and grabbing up a towel to wipe away the sweat from my deeply scarred torso. As soon as I put my shirt on, they seem to ease up a bit and murmured conversation resumes, followed by the clank of weight equipment.

I nod to Sarge and his men in the corner, signaling my readiness to leave this place and give the civilians a break. He grunts and follows me out the door as I head out, my mind, as always, dwelling on the past, since I have no future.